


Killjoys: Origins

by StarLight37



Series: Killjoys: Origins [1]
Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album), My Chemical Romance, The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Comic)
Genre: All of them are in their teen years, Analog wars happen in this, BL/IND sucks, Dr. Death Defying has functioning legs, Dr. Death Defying is basically Poison’s adopted father, Edgy, Fun Ghoul is a flirty bastard, Helium Wars, I researched the comics and videos for this, I’M NOT O-FUCKING-KAY, Jet Star is like everyone’s dad ok, K I L L J O Y S, Killjoy’s origin story, Kobra Kid is a cinnamon roll, Kobra Kid struggles with addiction warning y’all, MCR IS BACK HELL YEAH, Nonbinary Party Poison (Danger Days), Other, Party Poison and Kobra Kid ARE NOT related, Party Poison is a goddamn weeb, Party Poison is leader, Party Poison is too sassy, Party Poison swears. Like. A lot., Poison has the “tired funky bastard” energy, Pre-death killjoys, THE GIRLS MOMS NAME IS-, The Fabulous Killjoys Are Not MCR (Danger Days), The Zones, killjoys, mention of the parents of the Killjoys but they’re not that important, my chemical romance - Freeform, no beta we die like morons, oh wait never mind, time for cry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-01-23 21:00:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21326605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarLight37/pseuds/StarLight37
Summary: A gunslinging, desert fighting, gay partying, bomb exploding, hentai watching, drum banging, all out brawling, dog petting, super sassing, katana wielding, one hell of an origin story for The Zone’s greatest warriors. Look alive, sunshine, we’re in the era of the Killjoys.
Series: Killjoys: Origins [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1537693
Comments: 33
Kudos: 39





	1. Party Poison

**Author's Note:**

> Y’ALL I CANNOT BELIEVE THAT MCR CAME BACK THIS YEAR. 
> 
> Anyways, they came back, kicked my writer’s block in the face, and now I am providing you with my take on what I believe to be the origin story for the killjoys. Buckle up motherfuckers, because this is one wild ride.

The blazing desert sun was a bright wake up call for the residents of The Zones.

In particular, a certain resident of the sandy wastelands seemed to despise its bright glory. They were the type of person to appreciate the night, and the chill and tranquility it brought to the land. They loved the stars, and the moon’s soothing glow. They loved the creatures that would emerge from hidden burrows and concealed holes. To put it frankly, the day brought unpleasant heat and the promise of an afternoon scorching gunfight, something they weren’t keen on participating in.

Regardless, this resident, 16 year old Party Poison, as they liked to be called, had a job to do, and if they didn’t get up, then their day’s pay would be relinquished, which meant that they wouldn’t be able to get any necessities from the diner, such as food, and a new charge for their blaster. So begrudgingly, they got up, tossing away the stained wool blankets off their legs against the wall of the rusty metal storage container. They called it home, or as much as a home as it could be. The bed they had wasn’t too shabby, as luck shined on them a few months ago as they were perusing through one of the local junkyards. They found an old metal bed frame that was missing quite a bit of parts, along with a dirty, nearly flat, moldy, dust mite ridden mattress. A bit of tinkering and using some metal scrap salvage, and this wasteland resident was able to fashion a bed as good as anything. Sure, it creaked in all hours of the night and shook like it’d break at the slightest breath, but it was much more comfortable than the cold and sandy metal floor of the storage container they resided in. 

One of the walls was completely covered in news articles, ads, and posters that Poison had found in the wastelands. Many advertised products of the horrid BL/IND. company, and the rest were much older paper scraps, dating as far back as the 1950’s, advertising everything from comics to dog food. Honestly, they didn’t give two hoots at what was on the papers, it was just a nice mural of colors and shapes to wake up to. There was also the occasional drawing plastered up there that this resident took the time to create. A self portrait up top, a desert vulture to the left, and so on. Art supplies were rare to come by in The Zones, so they usually made do with things such as dirt, blood, and coffee. Poison had carved their own logo, a pill capsule above an X, surrounded by a ring, into the wall with a sharp edge of their blaster, which had been a Christmas present many years ago from Dr. Death, the owner of the wasteland diner and also the only radio host and news anchor on this side of the wastelands. 

The resident was given it for protection, as Dr. D. explained. They were 13 at that time, the time where BL/IND. was really starting to administer exterminations in The Zones. Poison was appreciative, sure, but also scared shitless. The blaster meant that BL/IND. wouldn’t be against taking out the youth of The Zones. ‘Killing the seeds before they germinate’ was their theory as to why. Needless to say, Poison made sure the blaster never left their side. It was given to them as a blank yellow canvas, sleek and gleaming. Dr. D. was kind enough to provide stencils and paint for them to customize it. “So it’ll be an identifier for you.” He explained. “Everyone must personalize their weapon, lest they be exterminated and lose their identities, or die with their masks on.” Ah yes, masks. Another gift Poison was given. Well, one of them at least. By a warrior visiting the diner. The resident didn’t remember much about them, other than the fact that they were stepping down from the fight. Retiring. Dying. They gave them a flat yellow mask with a clown like design. It barely covered their face, but it was a very important sentiment. They accepted the mask without question, and made an effort to wear it as much as possible.

Poison had a second mask, one that was much more practical in concealment, but came at the cost of standing out and limiting their vision. As if their bright red mess of hair atop their head wasn’t a beacon enough, this mask was a large blue mouse head. There was a breathing tube in the mouth that didn’t work, and the paint on the nose and eyes had faded a great deal. Poison wore the mask less often than the former, as it got hot very easily and limited their vision. They kept it mostly as a trophy and memorabilia because of how they found it. It was a breath stopping scene before them, almost two years ago today, now that they recall it. Six rebels had been exterminated by the Draculoids. Two of them had their faces blasted open, no way to identify their corpses. The other four had wounds that streaked across their bodies like craters on the moon. One was still alive, and Poison only noticed because of their pained coughing. This warrior’s name was Axel. He was what some would call a pretty boy, bright green eyes and a neon orange jacket. His mask, the mouse mask, was clutched tightly in one of his blood soaked hands, his indigo blaster with a silver gear painted on the side tightly held in the other hand.  
“Kid, take this. It won’t do me good no more. I’m going to go join the sky patrol, ya hear?” Axel had a thick southern drawl to his voice. “There ain’t no need for me here, I’ve done all I could’ve, alright? You take this and you brandish it for me, you wear him proud and my crew will be mighty thankful of you. Now go one before you’re swiss kid. Go on, git. It don’t hurt much. You take good care now.” Axel erupted into a fit of coughing as the young resident gently took the mask once it fell out of his hands.  
“May they never kill your joy.” Axel croaked on his dying breath before expiring right in front of Poison. 

They knew better than to tamper with the bodies. It wasn’t a law or anything like that, more like a universal respect for the departed rebels. The Phoenix Witch would take care of their souls, even after their bodies had been turned to Draculoids. This resident wasn’t superstitious, even in the slightest bit, but they definitely knew that there were forces out there not to be challenged. They knew about the Phoenix Witch, and despite not having any judgements, they were certain that this person was the deciding factor of their fate, a grim reaper of sorts. For that, they chose to believe that when the time comes, the witch becomes real, as real as a target you could shoot. 

The mask sat on top of a table in this resident’s home, surrounded by papers and candles and one lone radio; every Zone resident was required to have one for their own safety, it wasn’t an oppressive requirement like the ones in Battery City, more so a one of caution. The radios connected everyone, much like the internet, or a widespread family. The news of the desert came from these radios, distress calls, friendly messages, whispers of those long gone. All of this came from the tin box of static noise. For now, this resident had their radio shut off. There were no rules or requirements against turning off the radios, other than it being frowned upon. But Poison knew they weren’t the only ones that did this, many just refused to admit it up front. There are times when no one wants to hear the constant noise of everyone else, or even attempt to lift a finger towards someone in dire need. One death is better than the deaths of several. 

They made no effort to turn it on at this time. They had to get ready, and they were heading for the diner anyways. The morning radio news didn’t start until 8:30, and it was 7:00 now. The trek to the diner took at least an hour on foot, sometimes more if a sandstorm or heat wave occurred. 

Poison didn’t sleep in their day clothes. At least, not all of it. It was considered a luxury to some to have more than one outfit or attire, and to Poison, they considered it a luxury to have some bed clothes. It wasn’t much, just a ratty pair of beige turned brown with wear and tear cargo shorts. They slept shirtless, as even though the nights got cold, the interior of the cargo container stayed much warmer due to it being metal warmed by the sun. 

They exchanged the sleep shorts for their jeans, a faded to gray pair of what was once white. Poison had done a good job of stitching up most of the rips and holes with red thread they looted from a junkyard, and a particularly large hole on the left knee side was covered with a bright yellow bandanna. Coffee and red sand stains, and a few bloodstains even, could be found in several places, but they didn’t seem to pay it any mind. They strapped their black leathery makeshift blaster holster to their right thigh and pulled on their equally black boots. They were proud to say the boots had lasted for years, no holes, no wearing down on the soles, the laces weren’t frayed and none of the fabric layers were torn or tearing off. “Must’ve been magic that blessed them.” Someone had told them at the diner once. A colorful character, Poison recalled. A tall, slim and pale figure clad in roller skates and blue polka dotted leggings. They called themselves ShowPony, and much like Poison themselves, they didn’t care about pronouns or a gender binary. Hey, as long as you were still kickin’ and fightin’, did it even matter? Poison had been approached with questions about their pronouns time and time again, to which they’d respond with an almost mechanical response. 

“Are you a boy or a girl?”

“I’m a Zone rebel just like the rest of us here.” 

“Well, yeah, but what’s in your pants?” 

“Sass and kickass.” 

That’s how the conversations usually went, and many left them alone after that. And it was true, Poison had a nasty habit of being as sassy as all get out, even towards their superiors. Of course, Dr. D. didn’t put up with it, so Poison made a mental note to keep their sass turned down in the vicinity of the desert reporter. And kickass? Yeah, they had plenty of that too. “One of these days you’ll go out in a blaze of glory, you Party Junkie.” ShowPony told Poison once. Poison liked their bubbly personality, but hated the nickname. “It’s Party Poison, not Party Junkie, and don’t you dare forget that or I’ll bash your teeth in!” Poison always made empty threats to their friends and those they trusted, but based on Pony’s laugh at the remark, they realized that maybe Pony was right. “You’ve got a kickass attitude kid, some natural spunk all up in your head. Tell me, is that red dye causing your trigger happiness?” With that statement, Pony ruffled Poison’s shaggy candy apple mess. Poison swatted their hand away and refused to answer. As far as they were concerned, there wasn’t anything wrong with their hair, and there was no way in hell Poison was changing it anytime soon. “Go skate into a scrap pile, Pony.”  
“Choke on your pills, Poison.”  
And that’s how they ended most of their conversations. 

Poison slipped on the only shirt they had, a frayed at the ends black tank top with “KEEP SMILING” printed in big and glossy yellow letters across the center. Poison pulled the shirt out of a dumpster back when they were much younger, and they’ve been wearing it ever since. Surprisingly, it didn’t reek to high heaven, which Poison saw as a bonus. “One hell of a motto, kid.” Dr. D. had noted about it. Poison was indifferent on the matter, it was just a shirt, and a flimsy one at that. 

Finally, to top off their look, Poison carefully put on their jacket. Dr. D. had told them it had belonged to their father, and Poison’s father couldn’t bear to part with it. Even in death it seems, as D. described his encounter with the Phoenix Witch many years before. She told him that it was a hassle getting the jacket, and D. assumed that it was just because Poison’s father’s corpse was guarded by Draculoids. But no, the witch explained. It was as if he couldn’t bear to let it go, he couldn’t bear to see himself wasted away, forced to move on. “But everyone has to go, it was his time. I told him I’d make sure the jacket lived on in his boy. Though still unsettled, he seemed content with that happening, and that’s why I bestow this upon you.” Dr. D. had mimicked her witch-like voice poorly as he quoted her. Poison didn’t know their father. They weren’t allowed to know, something about it being dangerous or whatever. Not like they cared, for 16 years they managed just fine without him. 

Poison had made their own adjustments to the jacket. The jacket itself was once a vibrant blue leather, now quite faded, with a peeling logo of the Dead Pegasus oil corporation plastered across the left side of the front. Poison added some white and red stripes to the shoulders, “for some color kick.” They had explained to ShowPony, who was there when Poison was redecorating the jacket. Just like the wall of their makeshift home, Poison’s symbol was painted largely in bright red on the back. “Why red? isn’t that, well, y’know, a color that makes you easier to spot? Ain’t your red beacon up top enough, Party Junkie?” ShowPony had asked.  
“Red’s a fighting color.” Poison told them. “It’s like the leader of all the colors. What comes first in the rainbow and all that jazz, ya get me? We bleed red because it stands out so much.” Pony gave them a good hard whack to the back of Poison’s head for that statement. “You’re crazy, Junkie, truly crazy.”  
“Mm, says the pansy wearnin’ damn polka dots like some desert clown.”  
“Overdose on novocaine, Poison.”  
“Dislocate your ankles, Pony.” 

A patch of the Japanese flag was also stitched onto the left upper arm of this jacket, a fairly recent addition to their whole look. Poison had heard about Japan, and even owned Japanese things, like some long since torn apart and barely readable manga, and what they assumed was once a figure of a stunning anime girl, but was now a headless husk. Poison replaced the empty space on the neck stump with a carefully balanced marble from their favorite Japanese soda, ramune. It was no secret that they collected the marbles from inside the glass bottles once they were dry, hell, their pockets and boxes of necessities were filled with the little glass balls. The one on the figure had a slight blue tint to it, to which Poison beloved was a perfect fit, as this character had many turquoise accents, such as a bright turquoise tie, to accompany the black boots and sleeves, gray shirt and black skirt. They wanted to know what her face looked like, as truth be told, Poison found this anime girl’s body quite attractive.

“Guess I’m a sick psycho for likin’ some damn headless piece of plastic.” They grumbled as they reached for their radio to bring along with them on the journey to the diner. It was at this point that Poison finally decided to turn their radio on.  
“Look alive, sunshine.” Dr. D’s voice came through as soon as Poison turned it on. “You’re up early, what, the pain meds didn’t knock you out long enough?” Poison responded.  
“Cut back on the sass, kid. We talked about this. Did you forget your gloves?”  
“What?”  
“Your gloves, Poison, your gloves. Go put them on, I ain’t gonna keep providing you bandages for your blisters if you’re not gonna wear your gloves that prevent ‘em.” D. was referring to the blisters that every blaster owning rebel got, it was a major malfunction in the product where the initial blast usually caused injury.  
“Right, right yeah.” Poison mumbled, rummaging through their belongings and finding their brown leather biker gloves. They found some wristbands too, and decided to slip those on as well.  
“You might want to bring your sand goggles to be safe, there’s a chance of a sandstorm from the north while you make your way over here.” D. advised Poison. Poison ignored him and stepped outside the storage container. The sun shined directly into their eyes, and for a moment they squinted away from the brightness.  
“Kid? Don’t go soundless on me. Did you hear me?” D. persisted.  
“I’ll be fine, I’ve got a bandana and that’s enough. I’m on my way.” Poison replied, turning around and closing the doors behind them. They didn’t lock, instead, Poison had to wrap up chains around the handles and hoped that no wandering Zone resident would want to take a look inside. It shouldn’t be a problem based on how far out Poison lived, but you could never be too careful.  
D’s disappointed sigh sent a wave of disdain through Poison as they waited for D. to tell them they had to take their goggles or else. But he didn’t say that, instead, he told Poison something else.  
“When you get to the diner, you’ll be assigned a mission with some other rebels from different parts of The Zones. Understand me?”  
“I’m not working alone?” Poison kicked around sand and rocks as they began their journey to the diner. It was 7:14 now.  
“No, you’re not, and you’re not going to argue or worm your way out of this. You’ve been reckless the past few solo missions you’ve been assigned, another slip up and you could be facing a fatality or severe consequences.”  
“I think I’ll take death over being punished for being an introvert.” Poison snarked.  
“Dammit Poison! Listen, would ya? You need to learn how to get along with others and stop being so afraid of making friends, I mean it! You’re banned from solo missions until further notice, hell, this is probably permanent, so suck it up and deal with it.”  
“But I have friends. The desert lizards and ShowPony are my friends.” Poison argued, almost tripping over a clump of dry plants.  
“Animals and one lone lunatic don’t count kid. I’m not always gonna be around, you get that, right? You need way more of a family than I am to you, a whole crew will do ya some good.”  
“Will it?” Poison’s voice went soft and child like. D. sighed. The radio crackled at the sound. “Just get here ASAP, alright? Dr. Death Defying signing off.” D’s end went silent. “Party Poison signing off.” Poison responded, shoving the radio in their back pocket as they trekked onwards through the desert.  
Maybe Poison should’ve listened to Dr. D., because sure enough, a sandstorm came up out of nowhere. A strong gust of wind blew a whole cloud of sand into their face, so Poison untied the bandana from their leg and held it up to their mouth. They were starting to wheeze as sand infected their airways. Poison couldn’t see even two feet in front of themselves, and due to that, they tripped and fell face first into the grit. It was a pile of scrap they tripped over from the looks of it, and through their sputtering and the swirling sand, Poison realized they’d gotten a bloody nose.  
“Well fuck me!” They spat, wiping the blood from their lip before erupting into a coughing fit. “Fuck!” They rasped, desperately gasping for air. “No, no no no shit shit god fucking dammit!” Poison shakily tried to get to their feet, but after a feeble attempt, panic racked their body as the horrifying realization set in. 

They were going to die alone in the middle of nowhere.

At least, that’s what was Poison’s last thought before they lost consciousness, and as their vision faded, for a moment, they thought they saw somebody approaching. And in an instant, everything went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, here’s the first chapter! I made Poison non-binary because Gerard himself was like “oh the fans are making Poison non-binary? Cool, go for it!” 
> 
> And yeah, Axel is a new killjoy OC of mine, but I swear this is like the only part he shows up in for backstory purposes. I’m really excited to write up how the gang is brought together, and of course I’m dumping all of my headcanons into this, you’re welcome. Stay tuned for chapter two, and here’s a little bit of a preview for a later on chapter...  
___  
“Damn Poison, your eyes are really something, eh? They look like the rare grasses of the sand wastes, gleaming in the moonlight. It’s hazel, right? That’s the color of your magnificent eyes?” 
> 
> “Well that’s a fucking obnoxious way to describe my peepers. But yes, my eyes are hazel.” Poison’s unwarranted sass strikes again. 
> 
> ____  
Anyways, enjoy the series, AND MAY US KILLJOYS NEVER DIE!


	2. Fun Ghoul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fun Ghoul is introduced and unexpectedly finds himself being a hero. Poison’s sass is also unrelenting.

If someone were to tell Fun Ghoul that today was going to be one clusterfuck of events, he most likely would’ve punched this someone’s lights out. He wasn’t a fan of people meddling in his own affairs, or quite too keen on being told what to do.

Ghoul wasn’t a morning person, if it wasn’t obvious enough by his barely holding on crunched up alarm clock that sat on the shelf above his head. A shelf, which, despite his grumbles of “going to move it later,” was never adjusted or moved elsewhere, so every morning upon sitting up in bed, he’d slam his head on the bottom of it and let out a string of curses and foul words that’d make a priest give up on the spot. He didn’t seem to have a filter in regards for the words that came out of his mouth, if he thought it, he’d say it, to which a consequence of some sort often followed suit. 

As if routine by now, the same situation happened, Ghoul whacked his head after sitting up, and in a fit of injured rage, he flung his pillow at the ground while uttering some colorful words. In all honesty, he wanted nothing more than to shoot his alarm clock at this moment, as he was fed up beyond belief with its constant droning and wailing. Thing is, he couldn’t find his blaster. Again.

This was normal for Ghoul. 

As scatterbrained as he was, he often left food wrappers and other things on the floor of his room that shouldn’t be there, and yet, every time he was motivated enough to clean it, within days the floor wouldn’t be visible under the piles of junk once more. 

“Keep it down, asshole!” A burly female voice called from down below.

“How ‘bout you come up here and make me, sweetheart?” Ghoul snarkily replied. A gunshot was suddenly heard, and a scorching hole in his floor appeared less than an inch away from his foot. Needless to say, Ghoul immediately apologized. He lived in what could best be described as an apartment complex, if said complex was severely run down and filled with grouchy tenants that would fight you on sight if you so much as even looked at them the wrong way. Ghoul had the luxury of being in a suite on the top floor, so he always woke up with a view. At least, he could’ve if he didn’t board up his windows. 

In his defense, there was a lack of glass or anything preventing him from suddenly rolling over in bed and plummeting to his demise in his sleep, so he’d take no view over no life any day. 

Ghoul didn’t really have any other clothes besides what he normally wore— a yellow shirt with black splotches, some black jeans, a cord belt, and a brown leather backpack that was one tug away from falling apart—other than the green military jacket he took on and off frequently. It was a miracle that he managed to find it within the sea of filth on his floor, and as he yanked it up, his bright green blaster fell out of the holster pocket on the jacket’s right side. Before he could react, the blaster hit the ground, and on impact, fired off. Ghoul ducked and hoped and prayed he wasn’t suddenly missing a streak of his hair. When he stood, he turned to look behind himself when the hiss of something burnt caught his attention—there was a hole in one of the planks on his window. Ghoul ran a hand through his scruffy black hair just to make sure it was all still in tact (and luckily it was) before he carefully picked up his blaster and slid it back into the chest holster. 

What was his agenda for today? Nothing that exciting. Most days, Ghoul would just travel the desert looking for scraps and other useless junk to sell. It was tiring most of the time, always being out in the desert at the hottest parts of the day, dragging scraps of god knows what through the sand that weren’t worth much. The money he earned from collecting was just barely enough for him to afford paying for food and other necessities for himself. Luckily, no one in the wastelands adopted a rent or landlord sort of system, so at least he wasn’t in debt from where he lived. A bit of a twisted relief in this dystopia if he really thought about it. 

There were days where things really got exciting however, those were the days Ghoul actively tried to seek out. It was no secret that B.L./IND. was a vastly hated company in the wastelands, and it seemed the company thought the same of The Zones. Ghoul didn’t know the full extent of it, but he knew that it was an oppressive society that was hellbent on controlling everything you see, hear, and do. Ghoul couldn’t stand the though of mundane conformity, as if his regular schedule wasn’t boring enough. B.L./IND. had been sending out extermination squadrons to get rid of any rebels they came across in a brutal process of taking their lives and usually their identities. Each squad was lead by a S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W, an elite assassin that, most of the time, merely stood back and watched and only intervened if necessary. More often than not, Draculoids would be the ones doing all the killing and identity erasing. They were pompous, sleazy assholes that wore white suits and carried bland, white blasters of similar make and models to the one that Ghoul himself used. Dracs also wore hideous Dracula looking masks made by B.L./IND. that could brainwash you if worn long enough, hence their names. Dracs didn’t really pack a punch alone, but in greater quantities were dangerous pests if not dealt with properly. 

It was considered luck to only be killed by Dracs, because at least you had a chance of moving on to a possible paradise thanks to some urban legend called the Phoenix Witch. The worst part is if you were only mortally injured. If they found out you were still alive, even just barely, a S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W would order for you to join them. You didn’t have a choice, as you desperately tried to hurry up the process of your own death. They’d force the masks onto you and let you struggle until you were completely taken over, an erased identity now only known for being just like the white bastards that caused such a disturbance in the first place.

Ghoul was always ecstatic whenever an opportunity to take out some Dracs arose, he made a whole day of it, and treat himself to some candy, or whatever other food luxury he could get ahold of. But alas, today was not one of those days. His radio was nothing but silence, to his disappointment. 

With a heavy sigh, Ghoul kicked at some of the trash on his floor before flinging open his door and starting his long trudge down the stairs to get to the outside. 

★★★

After nearly two hours of searching, Ghoul only managed to find a few pieces of scrap metal. He identified a few bits and pieces; an old and rusty part of some fast food restaurant sign here, a dented beyond repair car muffler there. All junk that probably wouldn’t sell for much. He tied up all the pieces in a thin, hole-y blanket he had stored in his backpack and dragged it along with him through the sand. He’d constantly bump into rocks, each jolt threatening to break open his makeshift transport and spill its contents in every direction. The radio strapped to his belt had been playing staticky tidbits of whatever was being locally broadcasted, every few minutes he’d be able to hear what was playing as clear as if it was being played right in front of him, and the rest of the time it sounded too muddled and garbled and distorted to even be considered coherent sounds. 

Ghoul arrived at a traveling merchant’s set up just as the end of a song was clearly playing. It was one he didn’t recognize. 

“The station’s playing My Chemical Romance again, eh boy?” The merchant commented as he approached Ghoul. He found it strange how this merchant looked like some sea captain, despite them living in the middle of the desert, but he kept that thought to himself. “Whatcha got for me kiddo?”

“Scrap I’m looking to sell, sir.” Ghoul responded. This merchant seemed old and wise, and Ghoul was smart enough to know how to be respectful to people like him. Either that, or Ghoul was aware he’d probably get a major beatdown if he sassed a guy that was twice his size in just muscle alone, and the baseball bat with nails by his side sure as hell intimidated him.

“Aye, good lad. Why don’t ye take a look around while I price your items?” 

“Alright.” Ghoul shrugged. Merchants usually only sold about the same junk that he dragged in, rarely ever anything interesting. At least, that’s what Ghoul had thought prior to right now. In a box of musty old and colorless clothes, there was a very odd looking mask at the bottom. Ghoul pulled it out to examine it closer; it was a mask resembling that of the classic horror icon, Frankenstein’s Monster. Except, it was completely the wrong color, as if it was inverted or a defunct result of its manufacturing. The mask was a bright magenta in skin tone, with sickly green hair and dark gray accents like stitches and facial features. The mask also had a crappily attached breathing tube in the mouth that snaked around to the backside. It must’ve just been for show, because Ghoul couldn’t figure out how it could function otherwise. He turned and presented the mask to the merchant.

“How much for this?” 

The merchant looked up and flashed a crooked yellow smile. “Heh! You want some garbage like that, eh son? Tell ye what, it’s yours if you give me all this-“ he gestured to Ghoul’s scavenged like of junk, “fer only eight carbons. Deal sonny?” 

Well shit, that wasn’t ideal. Usually he got at least ten carbons for a modest sized pile of junk like that. On the other hand, Ghoul didn’t posses a mask of his own, and with the increase in exterminations, a mask could really come in handy. Ghoul sighed. “Yes sir, deal.” He pocketed the rubber mask and waited for the merchant to pay him.

“Good on ye kid, seems ye got your wits about yourself.” The merchant bustled about over to a locked box underneath a table. As Ghoul waited, his radio suddenly crackled to life. 

“Able bodied fighters are requested on this day for a destroy and rescue mission in the quadrant of-“ at the sound of the mechanized voice, Ghoul turned the volume up, these messages usually meant Drac hunting. 

“Respond to this transmission within the hour to secure a spot. Repeat the code 2013, I repeat, code 2013 if you comprehend this message and you would-“

Ghoul turned a few knobs on his radio and practically shouted back the code. More static, and then a male’s voice he didn’t recognize. “Look alive, sunshine. This is DJ Dr. Death Defying on the line, may I ask who’s requestin’ a fight?”

Ghoul had no idea who this man was, but he sounded like the kind of guy you wouldn’t wanna mess with. “Hi, yeah, I go by the name Fun Ghoul, er, sir.” Ghoul replied.

The merchant came back over and handed him the little carbon capsules and gave him a wink of salutations before walking off with some of the junk Ghoul had brought.

“Now cut that kid, there’s no need for formalities here. How old are you, Ghoul? Can you pinpoint a mouse in a dust storm? And how good’s your shootin’ arm when broken?” Dr. Death told him, and then went silent. Ghoul took that as his chance to reply. “I’m fifteen. A mouse can only hide as good as it can run from the cat, and I can shoot with my other arm backwards. Can I fight?” 

“Well Ghoul, I dunno, can ya? Do you know of the diner out on Route Helix?” Ghoul knew the area existed, but he had never actually been to the diner. “I’m aware of it, yes.” Ghoul nodded even though Dr. Death couldn’t see him. “Well then, why don’t you swoop in and come have a talk with me kid? You seem like you know your way about yourself, if I see you for myself and determine you fit for a scuffle, I’ll let you and the rest of the posse I’ve gathered up go on out. Sound good to you?” 

“Yes Dr. Death.” Ghoul replied and nodded again. “I’d like to announce that I’ve got six Dracs already under my belt, in case you were doubting me.” Ghoul didn’t want to brag, but he thought that maybe this guy would want to know since he was looking for people to kill some Dracs. 

“Kid, is that pride I hear? You’d do good to not let it get to your head. Can you arrive here within an hour?”

Ghoul glanced around for some sort of time telling device. “Sir, do you have the time?” He called out to the merchant. The merchant perked up and looked down at his lap for a moment, and then back up. “Seven forty five boy!” He said. Ghoul thought for a moment and checked his compass from his bag. The diner was southwest from here, about forty five minutes away on foot. “I can certainly try, I’m on my way over right now.” Ghoul got up and grabbed the blanket he dragged here off the ground and hastily shoved it into his bag. 

“Roger that, kid. And one more thing before I go static, be warned one nasty dust devil storm is cruising on in from the north. You be watchful and keep yourself safe if it slams ya, understand?” Shit, a sandstorm? Ghoul was about to just give up all together before he realized that the new mask of his had coverings over the eyes, so he had a better chance out there. “Affirmative, Fun Ghoul going static.” He signed off and waited for Dr. Death to do the same before he began his trek in the direction towards the diner. 

The first fifteen minutes or so of Ghoul’s walk were uneventful. And just like Dr. Death said, the sandstorm slowly but surely made its presence known. Ghoul halted and pulled the mask out of his bag before he continued on and let the sandstorm get worse. The bright coloration still struck him as odd, he thought while tugging it over his face. The inside, unfortunately, did not smell pleasant. Ghoul stifled a gag at the stench of sweat and hot rubber, and instead made sure he could still see and function okay while wearing the mask. Though it limited his depth of field, Ghoul could still see where he was going, and the pungent mask was a much better alternative than breathing in dust and being blinded by sand grains. 

Satisfied, Ghoul carried on, this time making sure he had his compass out so he wouldn’t get lost in the swirling clouds of sand. His radio started making the garbled static noises again, which almost completely distracted him from a silhouette that showed up a few meters in front of him. Ghoul quickly shut his radio off and froze in place as he slowly reached for his blaster. He squinted and debated taking the mask off to get a better look, but a sudden gust of sand against his body made him think twice. The person in front of him seemed to be staggering a great deal, and over the harsh wind, he heard them coughing and wheezing. Ghoul guessed they hadn’t prepared for the storm. For a moment, he wanted to just walk by them and leave, as he had better things to do and places to be. Until the person in front of him suddenly collapsed. Ghoul felt bad immediately and even a bit panicky as he dashed forwards to aid this person. 

The wind and sand beat at his back as Ghoul knelt down to assess the situation. From what he could see, this person didn’t have any external injuries he should be worried about, so they must’ve just passed out from inhaling too much sand. Ghoul labeled the person as “they” in his mind, because they had a very androgynous appearance; a feminine face with a masculine build, short, scruffy vibrant red hair, and a very pale skin tone. Ghoul recognized the fact this person looked about the same age as himself. “Aw hell, now I definitely can’t leave you out here, wouldn’t want that on my conscious.” Ghoul mumbled. 

“Hey! Hey, can you hear me?” Ghoul shook their shoulders. The collapsed person only groaned in response. 

“Shit.” Ghoul hissed. First things first, he had to make sure this person could breathe, as clearly, the ratty bandana pressed against their mouth wasn’t helping. Ghoul tore off his jacket (he carefully slipped his blaster out while doing so) and tapped on the person’s forehead. “Listen up Red, you gotta try and wrap this around your face, aight?” Ghoul was certain Red wasn’t their name, but he needed to call them  something . “Red” made no effort to do so. Ghoul swore under his breath before yanking this person up on their knees. They were nothing but deadweight, and Ghoul struggled to even keep them up straight. “For fuck’s sake, work with me here, Red! I’m trying to save your damn life, so I need you to cooperate and keep yourself up if you want to survive!” 

Finally, Red started to wake up a bit. They opened their eyes a sliver and squinted at Ghoul. “S’not Red...” they murmured, blindly reaching out for Ghoul’s jacket. “What?” Ghoul had no idea what they just said. 

“Poison.” They rasped. “Name’s Poison.” ‘Poison’ leaned too far forwards trying to grab Ghoul’s jacket that they eventually slumped over across Ghoul’s shoulder. Ghoul shoved them off. “Well dammit, Poison! Hold still if you don’t wanna choke to death on sand.” Ghoul snapped, suddenly yanking Poison forward so Ghoul could tie his jacket around their head. Poison squirmed and coughed a bit while he was doing so, much to Ghoul’s annoyance. After a moment, Ghoul had made a makeshift mask for Poison. “Where were you going out in a storm like this?” Ghoul questioned them. 

“None of your business, hot stuff.” Despite almost being knocked out, Poison still had their ungodly levels of sass with them. 

Ghoul ignored the possible insult and instead asked again. “Great, would you rather I leave you out here then? It wasn’t a small talk question, where are you headed so I can radio the location that you’re out here clinging to life.” Ghoul softened his harsh tone a bit in the hopes that Poison would be less reluctant to answer.

After a moment of silence, Poison begrudgingly answered. “Y’know about the diner?” They asked. “You mean the one off Route Helix?” Ghoul was unaware if there were other diners in The Zones. Poison confirmed his question with a nod. “I was headed there.” They coughed again.

Ghoul sighed, a thought crossing his mind that’d make him a fool and a coward if he didn’t act on it. “I’m headed there too. You’re coming with me.” It wasn’t a question. Poison seemed reluctant and wanted to argue as Ghoul pulled them to their feet. They stumbled and almost fell over, but Ghoul caught them. “Use your legs, Poison. I’m not carrying your bright red ass.” He grumbled while sliding one of Poison’s arms over his shoulder to support them. “You owe me for this.” Ghoul told them. 

“Bite me.” Poison responded hastily.

“...And thanks.” They muttered quietly after. Ghoul pretended to not hear them and was glad his mask hid his brief smile. Seems like he was making a friend. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi  
I can explain  
School has been kicking my ass and I’ve gotten sick FOUR (4) TIMES between the last chapter and now. And even now I’m currently fighting the flu, hooray!   
But anyways, I apologize for this taking so long, the last thing I wanna do is abandon this fic like MCR abandoned us-  
*cough*  
I mean, boy am I gonna enjoy bringing all of them together, it’s gonna be fun!  
Anyways, enough of my ramblings, and happy New Years fellow killjoys!


	3. Kobra Kid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s Kobra’s introduction now!

“Sir, are you aware of the heinous crime you just committed?”

_ Mow? _

“Yes, that. It’s illegal to be so damn cute, I’m going to have to detain you.” 

_Mroww_.

“Yeah you’re probably right. Being cute is still illegal though so your punishment is that you get an extra cat treat.”

At the mention of the holy grail, Kobra’s cat gave him a happy gentle boop on his leg with his paw. Kobra laughed and booped him back. “I know, Viper. Are you gonna be a good boy and watch the joint for me while I’m gone?” Viper responded by purring quite loudly and walking off to go get some water. 

Kobra normally didn’t wake up early. Hell, he was more of a nocturnal creature than a morning person. But he had recently been informed of news of a job, one that paid well and had just the kick of excitement he’d been looking for. No offense to it’s incredibly preserved information, but the abandoned planetary he was holed up in did get boring after awhile. That’s why Kobra tried to fill the boredom with other things, such as his cat.

He had found Viper two years ago behind the diner on Route Helix, trapped under a rapidly heating up trash bag. No one claimed ownership of the cat, so Kobra took it upon himself to adopt the gray ball of fuzz and make sure it never got stuck under any more trash. He aptly named the cat similar to himself, and enjoyed its company, and the same could be said for Viper as well. Kobra didn’t really have any other friends besides Viper. Most of the time, he didn’t mind it, but on some cold desert nights, he found himself quite lonely as he cuddled the feline closer. 

So Kobra filled the loneliness with taking any job offers he found. It didn’t really matter to him what it was, as long as he got payed and he could talk with people. Some were quite grueling, such as repairing cars or fixing a neon sign 50 feet up in the air with no safety rope or anything of the sort. Others were much more pleasant, one of his favorite weekly jobs was accompanying Old Man Jelly on his weekend walks. Elderly people were always fun to hang around in Kobra’s opinion, they had many brilliant stories, and seemed to be just as lonely as he was. Old Man Jelly got his name from the fact that was his favorite food, and from the factory he used to work in. Old Man Jelly has been around before B.L. IND. took over the vast majority of the American continents, but any time Kobra asked for stories of what that day was like, Jelly would solemnly space out for a moment and change the subject. Kobra never argued out of respect for the man, but he couldn’t ignore the growing twinge of curiosity within him. 

So Kobra filled his curiosity with more dangerous jobs. Jobs that tossed him directly out into danger. Drac extermination jobs. He took pride in his willingness to take on these jobs. What he wasn’t proud of, however, was his god awful shooting ability. Kobra swears up and down to anyone who’ll listen that he practices constantly, and he really does, but for some reason, his aim is as wack as his fashion sense. Dr. Death Defying himself, the man at the diner that usually assigned the Drac killing jobs to him, even had some doubts on letting Kobra go out alone. So he usually didn’t, Kobra always went with at least one other person on these jobs. The only notable person he’d been with on several occasions was a roller skating pimp looking moron that called themselves ShowPony. Kobra didn’t hate them, but boy did Kobra despise their penchant for flamboyancy. On several jobs, Kobra almost got his brains blasted in because of Pony’s need for a dramatic flair. But he’ll admit that they’re a damn good fighter, and despite all the close calls he’d endured with them, Kobra was glad to have Pony as an occasional partner. 

“What time is it?” Kobra asked himself as he stood on his toes to glimpse the large, moon shaped clock on the other side of the vast planetary room. And then Kobra remembered it was broken, so he just shrugged and began getting dressed to head to his job for the day. Dr. D. said that he was pairing Kobra up with 2 other people, though Kobra was a little disappointed to learn that Pony wasn’t one of them. Oh well. 

Kobra shrugged on his red motorcycle jacket over his yellow and black tee. There was a pizza stain plastered on the front of the shirt, and Kobra didn’t want to look like a slob in front of the two other people he’d be fighting with, so he zipped up the jacket and bent over to grab his black jeans from the floor. He half hopped, half tugged them onto his legs as he moved over to his desk to grab his gloves and his gun holster, which housed his shiny red ray gun. It took a few tries due to the straps being a bit frayed, but he got the holster strapped to his right leg successfully. 

Viper meowed from the other room. “Yeah bud I’m coming! Let me put on my shoes and then I’ll feed ya.” He called out as he looked around for his boots. He had a bad habit of kicking them off in random directions whenever he got home, and because of that, he found them in some odd places. One was somehow three feet out into the hallway, the other pretty far under his bed. 

The bed was there when Kobra found the place, so he assumed someone else lived there at some point before him. He didn’t know who and didn’t care to bother searching about them, but he was thankful that they left behind a place to sleep, even if the blankets were torn and the mattress was almost flat. 

Kobra retrieved the hall boot first, and then got down on his stomach to reach under the wooden bed frame to grab the other one. He grabbed it by the laces and yanked it out into the open. As he pulled it out, the boot caught on a beer can or two, and they rolled out in plain view. Kobra stared down at them for a moment with a look of disdain on his face. He needed to get more, at some point. Why he kept the cans shoved under his bed was a mystery even he didn’t know the answer to, but he did, and that was that. Kobra kicked the cans back under the bed once he got his boots on, and then stood to go feed Viper before he headed out to his job. 

A few days prior, the diner’s owner, and also the radio host of one of the most popular informational and music playing radio station WKIL 109, Dr. Death Defying, contacted Kobra about a job. Kobra was on good terms with Dr. D., as he preferred people he frequently interact with refer to him as, so Kobra was delighted to hear D.’s voice on the radio late one night saying he thought Kobra would be a good candidate for a job. He didn’t go into much detail then, only saying it was both a Draculoid extermination mission, and also a rescue mission, and when Kobra pressed for more info, D. told him that he’d explain more the day of. Kobra agreed to the job without a second thought, and wondered about who exactly he’d be working with. He remembered D. saying he had work for Pony to do at the diner, so them and their flamboyance wasn’t coming along for the ride. It definitely didn’t narrow down who he thought it was, the desert was vast with many residents, so Kobra’s guesses were as good as any. 

Another meow from Viper reminded Kobra that he had a current responsibility before traveling to the diner. “I’m right here, ya little vermin.” Kobra walked out into the hall and spoke to his demanding cat. Viper meowed again and took off down the giant flight of stairs to wait for Kobra to feed him. Kobra followed after and stared at the massive painting of the solar system that lined the wall to his left as he walked, and then focused his attention back to Viper. The gray mass of fur pawed at his bowl and meowed once again at Kobra, this time sounding exasperated. “Oh hush, waiting three more seconds won’t kill you.” Kobra ducked into what was once probably a janitorial closet at some point under the stairs and hefted out a large bag of cat food. Viper began circling his legs much like a vulture would as Kobra walked over to pour the food in, doing his best not to spill it or overfill it. Once he was satisfied, he put the bag back into the closet and left the door slightly ajar in case Viper needed a toy or his litter box at some point. Speaking of, Viper was tearing at his food and making quite a mess as if this was the last meal he’d ever be fed. Kobra was confused as to why Viper did that every time he fed him, but his best guess was that before Kobra found him, Viper rarely ever got enough food. 

“Okay bud, I’m leaving, man the fort for me while I’m gone, okay?” Kobra turned and grabbed his motorcycle helmet that rested on the banister and slipped it over his shaggy blond hair. Dr. D. had informed Kobra of a sandstorm occurring during the time he’d be making his way over, so Kobra thought it best to wear it so he could keep the sand and wind out of his face. Though, it wasn’t that practical. Sure, the helmet looked pretty cool with its brightly colored cartoony face, but “GOOD LUCK” was painted in big, bold, white letters directly onto the visor, which Kobra needed to see out of, so he already lost a lot of vision from wearing it, not to mention the fact it being a motorcycle helmet also limited his hearing. Well, losing a bit of vision was better than choking on sand, Kobra reasoned. Kobra grabbed his bike that leaned on the wall next to the door. It wasn’t anything special, though he did consider it luck that he found it in such good condition. Sure, it was a bit dinged up, but it was one of those off road mountain bikes he saw on some old paper advertisements that fluttered by occasionally, which meant that it was perfect for riding through the sand without a hitch. Kobra steered it towards the door with one hand as he fumbled in his jean pocket for his key to the door padlock. He kept the large wooden front doors of the planetarium padlocked because despite everyone in the Desert Zones fighting for the same kind of freedom, rebels often had minor territory scuffles, and Kobra was determined to keep his place his, and his only. Once he got his bike through, Kobra closed and re-locked the doors. 

The radio he stuffed in his back pocket crackled to life, and after a bit of static, the familiar voice of Dr. D. filled Kobra’s ears. “Look alive, Sunshine. This is Dr. Death Defying signing on, Kobra Kid, do you read me? Over.” Kobra reaches back and grabbed it as he mounted his bike. “I read you Dr. D., I’m on my way. I should be there in about thirty or so, maybe a bit more if the sandstorm you told me about slows me down. Over.” Kobra responded as he began peddling. He was a bit wobbly trying to hold the radio in one hand, and he had to stop once Dr. D. spoke again so he could respond without toppling over. “Roger that Kid. This is Dr. Death Defying signing off, over.” D.’s end went silent. “This is Kobra Kid signing off, over.” Once Kobra finished speaking, he pocketed the radio again and took off full speed on his bike just as the first few grains of sand began kicking up in the wind. Kobra flipped the visor over his face, and hoped the “GOOD LUCK” painted over his vision would bring him just that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s our terrible shooter boyo. Apologies for not having a consistent posting schedule, this fic was at first a spur of the moment kinda thing, but I wanna continue it whenever I can! I’m constantly going back to the wiki and I keep finding new stuff to add to the universe, such as a whole other character known as DJ Hot Chimp! She’s rad, expect her to show up in the future. Jet Star’s introduction is next, and after that, get ready for some fun!


	4. Jet Star

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jet’s introduction happens and everyone finally gets to meet!

“Damn, I need some coffee.” Jet grumbled to himself aloud. He sat up, situated on the back seats of his car, his frizzy mess of hair brushing against the car’s ceiling. It was a damn fine vehicle, according to Jet himself. He won the TransAM in a shooting competition a few years back, and beat his competitor, eight to none. And these weren’t the kind of people that were bitter losers, when Jet won, they let him take the 1979 Pontiac Firebird without a fight.

Jet had kept it in good running condition ever since that day. Even the slightest off noise it made could warn Jet about an impending malfunction, and he was able to fix the problem before it even had a chance to begin. Call it intuition or some dumb luck, but Jet only saw it as what any good retro car owner would do. Of course, despite its retro glory, Jet didn’t really know much in the way of vehicles of different times. He had other things to worry about, like what job he’d do to get paid enough to eat. 

He considered himself lucky that his mode of transport was in good condition, and not only that, it also functioned as his shelter. Jet knew he wasn’t the only person out in the desert wasteland that used their vehicles as a base, but he considered himself special nonetheless. He kept a pillow and blanket stashed in the backseat as a makeshift bed for himself, and kept his hygiene necessities in the glove compartment up front. 

His radio was perched in the front seat, noises crackling on and off occasionally. Jet didn’t pay it any mind, that is, until a voice came from the little metal soundbox. 

“Check, check one two. This is Dr. Death Defying radioing in to Jet Star. Come in Jet Star, over.” Another crackle, then silence. Jet stared at it and blinked the exhaustion out of his eyes before leaning forward and grabbing it off the fabric seat. He pressed and held down the button to speak after clearing his throat. “I read you sir. Any particular reason you’re radioing this early?” He asked. “Oh, over.” He added. D. always sternly reminded him to end radio transmissions by saying “over”. It was some military tactic or something, Jet didn’t bother focusing on the technicalities of it. 

“I got a job for you boy. Can you come into the diner before seven? Over.” Jet checked his watch. It was almost six in the morning. Jet nodded, and then realized D. had no way of seeing his confirmation, so he went back to the radio. “Yeah, I’ll be down in ehhh... forty five. Thirty if I feel like wasting gas. Er, over.” Jet replied. He began searching his car for his clothes. No, he wasn’t an idiot and slept naked, Jet at least had the decency to sleep in his boxers. “Roger that son, over and out.” D.’s voice dissipated into static. 

Jet tossed his radio back into the front seat, and grabbed his black jeans from the floorboard of the car. He took a moment to wiggle them up to his hips, and spotted his white, paint splattered tee draped over the passenger side headrest. As soon as he finished wrestling his pants on, Jet grabbed the shirt and tugged it on. “Jacket, jacket...?” Jet mumbled, turning around twice in the small space of his car before finally finding it in the trunk, right underneath his helmet. Jet has found both mask and jacket in a crashed plane a year or two ago. There was no pilot or corpses inside the wreckage, so Jet had no idea why a pilot’s gas helmet and jacket were just... there. Jet wasn’t one for superstition, he didn’t believe in a god, or ghosts, or whatever this Phoenix Witch was that he heard so much about. Jet believed in what he could see, hear, and feel, and he still couldn’t come up with an explanation for the wreckage. It was better if he didn’t think about it, and just accept the jacket and helmet without questioning it much. The clothing in question had changed from when Jet first obtained them. Namely, he had customized both, like sewing an American flag to the back of his jacket, and painting a golden lightning bolt across his helmet. Did Jet consider himself an artist? Fuck no, but painting some squiggles is much better than losing your mind in a pile of sand. Besides, sewing wasn’t just considered art out in the desert Zones, it could be what saved or didn’t save a life. Deep cuts from rusted metal and blaster wounds could kill a rebel in weeks if not sewn up tight, and Jet was glad he had the information on hand to keep his ass from dying. 

Jet tucked his helmet under his arm once he slipped on his jacket, and then crawled into the front seat. He set his helmet next to his radio on the seat beside him, and then leaned as far as he could to open the glovebox. The sun was coming up quick, so Jet grabbed his aviator shades, along with his bright blue ray gun. Jet swore up and down that he was a good shooter, and he really was! That is, if his blaster wasn’t busted. It only shot half the time he tried, and the other times it only blew smoke that smelled faintly like burnt hair and grease. Gross. Jet tucked his gun into the leather holster strapped to his arm, and pulled out his car keys from a pocket directly across from where his hand just was. 

“Let’s rock and roll, I guess.” Jet grumbled aloud, jamming the keys into the ignition. The car roared to life upon him doing that, and after performing a 180 that kicked up enough dirt to choke an elephant, Jet was speeding off in the direction of the diner. The car’s radio didn’t work, so Jet used one hand to fiddle with the knobs on his portable radio across from himself to turn on some music. It wasn’t the best music, but to Jet, it was better than listening to the dull hum of the engine for half an hour.Jet half heartedly hummed along to the current song, he didn’t recognize it, but he had heard it once or twice before. He kept up this kind of nonchalant boredom the whole drive, and the most eventful thing that happened on the way to the diner is that Jet almost ran over a desert hare. In Jet’s defense, they’re fast, small, and Jet is by no means a good driver. 

Minutes later, Jet slowed the Firebird to a crawl as he neared the diner. There were two motorcycles leaning against fenceposts situated in front of the building. Jet pocketed his keys and got out of the vehicle, and the car shook a little when he closed the door. The large “Gas-N-Gulp” sign atop the building’s roofhad the N and S flickering on and off with an irritating buzzing noise that followed Jet as he walked inside. The welcoming noise of the dented bell above the door alerted a man behind the diner counter with his back turned to the door. That man was none other than Dr. Death Defying himself, and D. seemed to perk up once he spotted Jet. “You got here faster than the desert roadrunner kid. Take a seat. Have you eaten yet?” D. asked him after brandishing a smile and lifting his shades up to the top of his head, and he began bustling around the area behind the counter. Jet came and sat down on the leftmost ratty barstool at the counter. “Got any coffee?” He asked. D. seemed to think for a moment, and then walked into one of two doors in the counter area. Jet assumed that was the storeroom and kitchen. D. came back out a minute or two later carrying two mugs of coffee, one for Jet, and one for himself. 

Jet reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a pretty shitty excuse for a wallet. “How much?” He began pulling out a few carbons, but D. held his hand up and shook his head. He took a swig of coffee, wiped the stain off his lip and mustache, and then spoke. “Don’t worry about that kid. On the house for the work I’m putting you up for.” D. explained.

“Alright.” Jet agreed and put his wallet back. 

They sat in silence for a few minutes just drinking their coffee. The only other people in the diner were ShowPony, who was currently cleaning across the room, and two rebels eating quietly in a corner of the room that Jet didn’t recognize. The coffee was bitter and had a faint taste of mildew, but for Jet, that’s about the best damn coffee you could get in The Zones. Jet downed half the cup, and mirrored D.’s actions of wiping his mouth. D. then looked up, and not a moment two soon, the sound of the door bell caught on Jet’s ears. Reflexively he turned around out of curiosity to see who it was. 

The kid had a bright, cartoony motorcycle helmet tucked under his red sleeve, and with his other arm he was switching off his radio. He silently walked up to the counter, placed the helmet down, yawned, and then gave a weak smile to D., completely ignoring Jet for the time being. “Am I late?” He asked, shifting a glance at Jet before paying attention to D. again. D. shook his head. “We’re waiting for two more scouts to show up before I send you packing on a mission.” D. responded to him, then finishing his coffee. “You’re Kobra, right?” D. called over his shoulder as he went to go put his mug in a sink against the wall. “Kobra” sat down two stools across from Jet and nodded once D. had turned back around. D. wiped his hands on a rag and came back to the counter. “Well kid, you hungry? I got eggs, cereal, coffee, and stale toast. Take your pick.” D. folded his hands on the counter as he explained to this Kobra guy. Jet just sat there half listening, half mulling over what was left of his now room temperature coffee. Kobra must’ve ordered something, because D. went back into the room he got the coffee from, but Jet didn’t hear what. 

Another moment of silence passed, and Jet had finished his coffee by then. The two rebels in the corner had gotten up and left, taking the two motorcycles parked out front with them. As the roar of the motorcycles died out as the two rebels drove away, Jet saw ShowPony begin to clean the table they were just at. Another silent moment passed, and Jet was getting antsy. He hated silence, it always spooked him into thinking something bad would happen next. Jet decided now was a good time to try and strike up a conversation with this Kobra guy, as, based on how early he was here, Jet was more than certain he was one of the people he was going on a mission with. So, conversation it was. 

Jet turned in his seat after pushing the coffee mug away from him. “Hey. It’s Kobra, right? That’s a wicked mask you got there,” Jet nodded at the bright yellow helmet on the counter. Kobra turned his head and glared at Jet. Jet was oblivious to the death stare he just received, and instead kept talking. “I’m assuming you’re going on whatever mission D. assigned too, right? Oh, uh, I’m Jet Star by the way.” 

Kobra stretches his arms out in front of him and yawned. “Cool. Don’t care.” He grumbled. Jet caught Kobra’s eyes fixated on something; a bunch of beer cans lining a shelf on the wall. That was... concerning, to say the least. Jet wondered how old this guy really was. He surely didn’t look old enough to be thinking about _that_. Before Jet could interject about it, D. came back out carrying a plate with 2 slices of nearly burnt toast. He set it down in front of Kobra, and then went into the back again to attend to other things. Kobra ignored Jet from that point on and ate his toast in silence, save for the loud crunching. 

The heavy silence passed once more, and Jet held his tongue as he fiddled with some loose strings on his own gloves. 

The sound of the door bell suddenly ringing out and the front door hitting the wall made both Jet and Kobra jump, Kobra nearly choking on his toast in the process. 

“Hey! I need some help over here, this dude passed out in the desert!” Jet and Kobra both turned to see two rebels standing in the doorway. The one on the left, wearing an off colored Frankenstein mask and a yellow and black shirt, was the one that spoke. He had the arm of someone in a blue jacket over his shoulders, and it was painfully obvious both were exhausted and were fighting to stay upright. The one on the right lifted their arm and tried to untie the jacket wrapped around their face, and they began coughing. D. came back out with a look of concern on his face, and seemed to recognize at least one of them. “Bloody hell mary, what happened to y’all? Were you thunder clapped on a passing route?” He asked, swinging the waist high counter door open and walking out to provide assistance to both of the rebels. 

“No, I was on my way here because I’ve got a mission I’ve signed myself up for, sir, and I found them choking on grit halfway here.” The Frankenstein one responded. D. distractedly nodded at that and took the one in blue off his shoulders, and removed the jacket from their face. Their red hair poofed out, and their eyes were half closed. They swayed as D. brought them to another door to the left of the counter area, and began fiddling with keys from his pockets. The redhead swayed some more, leaned right, and nearly fell on their face if the Frankenstein rebel hadn’t rushed over to catch them. D. cursed and hastily unlocked the door and took the redhead from the Frankenstein rebel, all while muttering; “damn it, Poison! I told you to bring your mask! Don’t you go ghost on me kid, I mean it!” 

D. pulled the red haired rebel into the room he unlocked, and swiftly closed the door behind himself, still worriedly muttering about them as Jet, Kobra, Pony, and the Frankenstein mask rebel were left alone in the diner. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, I really feel the need to apologize for the really inconsistent schedule I’ve got for this fic. I know I only wanted to make this series for fun as a thing I could kill time with, but hell, I ain’t the only killjoy fan out there.   
I hope you guys reading this are okay, I know at the time of posting this chapter, the world is a bit hectic right now. Hopefully the stuff I write about this crazy world will distract you from our own. 
> 
> Oh yeah, shout out to you guys who comment and leave feedback and whatnot, I absolutely adore reading your commentary on my writing, it’s honestly a good motivator for me to keep writing. Y’all are cool. 
> 
> Anyways, now that all four of the main killjoys have been introduced, I’ll go ahead and list off the kinda personalities I’m giving them so it’s easier to understand why I write them the way I do. Feel free to skip over reading this, I know these notes are already long enough as is.  
Aaaannnyyywhoooo...
> 
> Poison: They’re the “shoot first questions never” impulsive type. Their sass and dumbassery doesn’t have an off switch, and it’s a miracle the group allowed them to be leader. 
> 
> Ghoul: Ghoul is also kind of an idiot, but he usually thinks before he does something, unlike Poison. He’s also pretty flirty, but he has respect for his elders.
> 
> Kobra: literally the definition of edgy. Like. Geez kid, calm down. He’s super prideful and doesn’t really trust people all that much. I know in his intro I showed a softer side to him, but you guys aren’t gonna see soft Kobra again until he learns to trust the other three. Have fun with edgy Kobra for the time being.
> 
> Jet: Jet, being the oldest of the gang, has officially declared himself everyone’s mom. Like, yeah, sure, Poison may be the leader, but Jet is the one that really looks out for everyone. He’s awkward in a fun way and likes to make bad puns, and will most definitely panic if anyone in the killjoys has something bad happen to them. I’m talking tiger mom levels of this, like, imagine Poison getting knocked out and Ghoul and Kobra have to physically restrain him from murdering the guy that did it. 
> 
> Anyways, I’ll wrap this up now. Thanks for reading, and stay safe everyone. Poison would like to remind you to wash your fucking hands and stay hydrated.


	5. The Gang’s All Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hooray, Poison isn’t dead. Yet. Why don’t we have everyone introduce themselves?

“Wait, what are you doing?” Jet asked as he watched the Frankenstein-masked rebel storm off ahead towards the room that D. and that “Poison” kid disappeared into.   
“Obviously I’m going to help and see if they’re okay.” Ghoul snapped, ripping his mask off and tossing it on the counter as he attempted to open the now locked counter door. He jiggled it for a few seconds, and then after a weak angry kick to the wood when he couldn’t figure out how to open it, Ghoul tried climbing over it.   
“Look man, just stay back! I’m worried about Poison too, but one reckless dumbass is enough for today. D. knows what he’s doing, I’m sure Poison will be alright.” Pony had grabbed Ghoul’s arm and pulled him back as they stated that. Ghoul was about to protest, but then Jet spoke up to cut him off.   
“Polka-Dots is right, it’s best you stay out here so you don’t get in the way.”   
“It’s ShowPony.” Pony corrected him. Jet gave them an apologetic shrug. “My bad. I dunno if you heard me earlier since you were over there,” Jet pointed to the far side of the diner, “but the name’s Jet Star.” Pony nodded in acknowledgment, but didn’t say anything.   
“Uh. I’m uh, Fun Ghoul, I guess.” Ghoul piped up when he felt both Pony’s and Jet’s eyes on him.   
Then the group turned to Kobra, who, after the initial commotion, went back to eating his toast. “Guess this guy has bigger priorities than an exhausted fellow rebel.” Ghoul muttered under his breath, which prompted a smack on the back of the head from Pony.   
Jet rolled his eyes. “And this chatterbox is Kobra, from what I’ve heard D. call him.” Jet said loudly and obnoxiously enough for Kobra to sneak a side glare at him.   
“So, now that we’re all acquainted, why don’t we have a fun little share circle, and state why we’re here?” Ghoul said as he went to retrieve his mask off the counter, and tucked it under his arm. “I’ll go first, I’m here for a Drac extermination job that was advertised on the radio. Next person, go.”   
“D. and I have been friends for years, I’m like his personal assistant.” Pony spoke next.  
“Huh. Weird coincidence, but I’m here for the same reason you are, Ghoul.” Jet forced out an awkward laugh. “And from what I’ve gathered, our resident hype man is also here for that reason.” It was no shocker that Jet was passive aggressively referring to Kobra, who’s only reaction to that was to flip Jet the bird for a few seconds. Kobra then went back to his toast as if nothing happened.  
“Yeah, I bet the three of us are gonna get along swell.” Ghoul commented sarcastically. 

The quartet fell back into awkward silence for a minute or two as Kobra finished what remained of his breakfast. He was about to get up and go check on his bike when D. emerged from the room, looking slightly worried. 

“So? How’re they, Doc?” Ghoul asked, propping his elbows up on the counter.   
D. ran a hand through his hair. “They were just dehydrated and inhaled a bit too much sand. They’re gonna rest for a bit, and once they’re ready, I’ll give you four your mission.”  
“Four?” Jet asked. “So they’re joining us too? You sure you wanna send someone out that just passed out, sir?” A look of concern crossed Jet’s face.   
D. nodded and unlocked the counter door, then stepped outside of it. “I’m as sure as that ball of flames in the sky. Poison’s got cactus skin and a demeanor tougher than any scarecrow I’ve capped. They’ll be fine, as long as they don’t dive headfirst into danger.” D. nearly groaned that last part, seemingly reminiscing bits of the past where Poison did just that. 

“Poison. You hungry? Best you come eat before I send you off. Come introduce yourself while you’re at it, your partners would like to properly meet you.” D. leaned back and yelled at the door left ajar to the room Poison was resting in. There were noises of fumbling, a bang, Poison saying “fuck!” exactly eight times, and a moment later, the door swung open. Poison leaned on the doorframe and surveyed their surroundings, making brief eye contact with everyone in the room before speaking. “This is the band of freaks you dragged here?” They finally grunted out.

“Poison, if you don’t act civil then I’ll send Pony out, and leave you here to scrub down the gutters and the deep fryer.” D. scolded them. Poison rolled their eyes, but complied. They approached Jet first, and stuck out one of their hands. “Name’s Party Poison. If you speak about what happened to me to anyone, I’ll personally introduce your brains to the ground. Capiche?” That was Poison’s way of saying hello. Sass, and a threat of violence if you spill the beans about an embarrassing moment involving them.   
Jet chuckled and clapped his hand into Poison’s, and gave it one hearty shake. “Jet Star. I won’t. As long as you don’t have a repeat of it.”   
Poison narrowed their eyes at Jet, but said nothing else to them. Instead, they moved onto Ghoul next.   
“Let me guess, you’re expecting a thanks or some shit?” Poison was able to recognize the fact that Ghoul was the one that saved them. Ghoul laughed. “You wanna thank me again? Didn’t you already do that back out in the desert? But by all means go right ahead, I don’t mind a bit of extra praise today.” He winked at Poison. Poison fake gagged. “Anything I said out there means jack shit. I couldn’t see two inches in front of my face, let alone make rational talking points.” Poison glared at him.   
“Yeah yeah, you’re welcome buddy.” Ghoul made eye contact with Poison, probably a cocky way to assert dominance. “Damn Poison, your eyes are really something, eh? They look like the rare grasses of the sand wastes, gleaming in the moonlight. It’s hazel, right? That’s the color of your magnificent eyes?” He crooned.  
“Well that’s a fucking obnoxious way to describe my peepers. But yes, my eyes are hazel.” Poison’s unwarranted sass strikes again. Before Ghoul had a chance to make a comeback, Poison moved on to the last person they’d be fighting with. 

Kobra was still sitting at the counter, silently watching the scene unfold. He looked Poison up and down, but other than a judgmental look, he didn’t say anything.   
“Not much of a talker, eh? Then I guess you’ll be the least annoying one out of the four of us. I think by now you already know my name, and it’d be swell if I could learn yours too. Unless you’re okay with me calling you Blondie.”  
After more tense silence between Kobra and Poison staring each other down, Kobra finally hopped off the barstool. “It’s Kobra.” He bluntly muttered.  
“Kobra it is then.” Poison shrugged in agreement. 

“Poison. Drink this. You were dehydrated, and I’m not about to let you be a dumbass and pass out twice.” D. tossed Poison a water bottle. Though, unfortunately, Poison wasn’t looking, so the water bottle flew at them, and smacked them on the side of the head before falling to the floor. Kobra snickered and then immediately covered his mouth to hide his bemused smile. Luckily, Poison was too busy glaring at D. to notice Kobra’s enjoyment of their pain. “What the hell old man?! Gimmie a fuckin’ warning next time!” They spat, then bent over to pick the bottle up off the floor.   
D. had the same delighted smile Kobra was trying to hide. “Stay vigilant kid, you’re gonna be wandering out soon.” 

“Yeah yeah I get it.” Poison snapped. They opened the water bottle and downed about half of it. They wiped their mouth, and then spoke again as they walked closer to the counter. The others drew closer as well.

“So, what’s our mission?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes, it’s been awhile huh? I hope all of y’all are still hanging in there.   
Now I know recently that Gerard Way officially announced a new comic that was based off the idea of the original Killjoys. However, I will NOT be referencing any information, lore, or characters from that comic. This fanfic is specifically an origin story for the album Killjoys, the characters based around that. So you guys can rest easy knowing that nothing is gonna change character or lore-wise here. 
> 
> Hoo boy, speaking of lore, y’all won’t believe how much research I’ve put into this. I don’t know how many of you guys check tags, but I bet some of you noticed I added one or two more characters after I found them on one of my look backs on the character wikis. I had to look through the old comic again too, especially for the diner scenes in this story. 
> 
> So anyways, I’ve got a question for y’all. If I made some sort of social media for this fanfic, be it an Instagram account or a tumblr or twitter or something, would anyone be interested in following it? I’d post updates on how the chapters are going, fanart, headcanons, and I’ll even properly credit and repost fanart from other creators too. Oh, I may even have a “ask the killjoys” or “ask the author” section too. But I’ll only make an account like that if you guys are interested. I’m not sure how many people are seriously invested in this series, hell, I don’t even know if anyone is reading these notes. Ah, anyways, ignore my ramblings, I’d just appreciate some feedback on that idea.
> 
> Oh yeah, before I go, I should probably say this as a disclaimer, I DO NOT OWN THESE CHARACTERS. Nor am I claiming this origin story as canon. I do not work for Gerard Way or any of the publishers responsible for the comics. This is all just a big fan work run by one person, it’s all just for fun and speculation as to what I think happened. 
> 
> Aaaanyways.   
Stay safe everyone. I’ll get started on the next chapter ASAP, and hopefully there won’t be as big as a gap between uploads again. 
> 
> Take care, stay hydrated, wear your fucking masks, be nice to people, seeya!


	6. Let’s Get Down to Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mission is discussed, and the gang sets out to complete it.

Dr. D. pulled a large, rolled up paper map of the surrounding area from a drawer behind the counter.   
“Grab that end for me Jet.” D. pointed to one of the corners of the map as he leaned over and pinned the opposite end down with a cup and his hand. Jet Star grabbed one of the unfurled corners and held it down with his palm as the others leaned in to look. All except for Pony, that is, who wandered off to do more chores around the diner. 

“So rewind to nearly a week ago, I obtained some radio chatter from a rebel outpost stationed here,” D. pointed to a spot on the map that was a mile or two away from Desmond’s Crater, a location close to the boundary line between The Zone’s and Battery City. It got its name from a battle long since forgotten, rumors of what happened spread through word of mouth. Each rebel in the room had heard it differently too. Poison heard it was a failed nuclear weapon from Battery City. Kobra heard it was a bunch of bombs strapped to a S.C.A.R.E.C.R.O.W. van that caused a bigger explosion than anticipated. Ghoul heard it was alien interference, the tractor beam that kidnapped both rebels and Dracs alike carved out the forty foot long crater into the ground. And Jet didn’t really hear any story behind it, he just thought it was a normal occurrence like a meteor, asteroid, or plane crash. But whatever the story was, the crater existed and acted as a final safe zone before the perils of Battery City’s defenses any rebel would face if they were to venture forth.

D. cleared his throat and continued. “The talk of the static is that the Crows are planning something nasty. They couldn’t get close enough to the site set up by them without risking a few souls, but from what I’ve listened in on, they have— had one hostage.” D. paused and glanced up at the concerned and determined faces of the kids before him, then continued once more. “Up until yesterday, I had been keeping contact with our comrades from across the dunes. That is, until they went radio silent as well. I tried for hours for a response, and I got one then. I...” D. took a deep breath, and for a split second, Kobra could’ve sworn he saw D. about to cry. But D. pushed on as if that didn’t just happen. “I told the kid I’d make sure the Phoenix Witch had something to carry him over to The Beyond.” D.’s voice was suddenly grim and flat. “He was shot. Said that him and his crew were captured by the Dracs. He says there still alive and in the facility, but he said it wouldn’t be for long. He said most of them retreated back to the city for reinforcements. If we don’t get them out soon, the hostages they got are gonna be dusted. Not to mention the fact that... they’re planning something.” D. clenched his fist around the cup he was using to hold the map down, and then looked up at the group.   
“I’ve trusted you four with this mission. It won’t exactly be like your standard Drac clapping outing, but I reckon you will need to fight your way in. Pony has been going out as far as a mile behind Desmond’s Crater and scouting it with that fancy viewfinder they got. They said that they’re estimating that... well, we’ve got two days before the reinforcements trek the desert and cross over into our territory.” D. let go of the map, and one end unfurled. Jet was too transfixed on what D. was saying to notice, so he continued holding on to the other end of the map.   
“Do you four understand what I’ve said?”  
“Yes sir.” Jet affirmed him, and the others nodded.   
“So it’s a rescue mission?” Ghoul asked. “What exactly do you want us to do?”

“Find the hostages. Bust them out. Don’t get clapped in the process. From what Pony is telling me, there’s only a small squad of Dracs crawling the place, no S.C.A.R.E.C.R.O.W.s and no androids.”

“And what about finding information on what these fuckers are planning?” Poison asked, leaning towards D.  
D. shook his head. “I would rather you not do that. Your priority is staying alive and freeing the hostages. Only if you are absolutely certain it won’t cause you danger, will you be able to look for information. I want you back alive, Poison. I want all of you back alive as much as I want the sun to keep going.”  
“Even if they could be starting the apocalypse? Or a war?” Poison scoffed.  
“Even that.” D. aimed his stern tone at Poison specifically. Poison rolled their eyes, but didn’t argue any further. 

“Alright.... now that that’s explained, I think it’s time you all head out there. If you need supplies or blaster charges, talk to Pony, I’m not sure there’ll be much to put to use at the rebel base near Desmond’s Crater.” D. was about to take the map and put it away, but Jet stopped him. “Sorry sir, but I don’t have a map of my own, and I haven’t been on that side of the desert before. You mind if I bring it with me? I uh, I promise I’ll take care of it and bring it back.”

“Keep it kid, I’ve got six other copies.” D. shrugged. “Poison, a word please, before you head on out.” Poison looked confused. “Hey listen, old man, I’m not gonna get my brains blasted to high heaven, so you can relax.” Poison snarked. D. crossed his arms. “Poison. Don’t make me drag you by your ear.” D.’s stern tone returned.

“Looks like someone’s got daddy issues.” Kobra mumbled while attempting to hide a snicker. Ghoul overheard it and also had to fight back a laugh. Poison also heard, but wasn’t as pleased upon hearing it as Ghoul was.

“HEY! FUCKTARD!” They shouted, and shoved Ghoul out of the way so they could get closer to Kobra. “You got a problem with me piss-lips? The old man isn’t my dad, so you can shove it, before I make you eat those words and a bullet.” Poison spat at him.  
Kobra kept an indifferent face, but before he could respond with a remark, D. came between them. “Alright, that’s enough you numb minded pig brains.” He put one hand on Poison’s chest, and one on Kobra’s to hold the two dumbasses back, and to keep them from mauling each other. “Poison, you need to learn to play nice with your fellow rebels. If you’d get your head out of your ass for two seconds and listened to me, I was going to tell you this in private, but now you’ve given yourself the luxury of me lecturing you right here. Now we don’t have time for me to be the mediator between your group, and I sure as hell can’t referee and go with you lot. This goes for all of you. If you four can’t cooperate as a team, then I’ll send another, more competent group out on this mission instead. The bickering stops here between all of you, do I make myself clear?” D. didn’t raise his voice a single time, but he still managed to get his point across. Kobra and Ghoul nodded, and Jet and Poison mumbled “yes sir” in response.   
D. took his hands off of Kobra and Poison and stepped back. “Play nice.” He warned them. Poison and Kobra glared at each other, but for the time being, it seemed it was just civil hostility.

“Uh, hey, I hate to be that guy, but, uh, how are all four of us going to get there? I walked here, and I’m assuming hot head over here did too, since I had to carry their ass on foot. And I don’t think we’re all gonna fit on this kid’s bike.” Ghoul pointed at Kobra as he voiced his concerns. Poison flipped Ghoul off at the comment about them being a hot head. Ghoul cheekily smiled at them in return. Both of them were shot stern glares from D.   
“We can take my car I guess.” Jet shrugged.  
“Oh shit, that thing’s yours? Duuuuude, that’s one hell of a ride.” Ghoul perked up at that, and looked outside the front window to stare at the Firebird. He whistled at it, then turned back to the group. “I call shotgun!” He grinned.   
“I don’t think anyone cares.” Kobra grumbled. “As long as no one sits on me, don’t care.” He continued in his grumpy manner.   
“Alright, cool ass car it is then!” Ghoul announced in a chipper tone. “What’re we waiting for? We’re all ready to go, right? C’mon, let’s get a move on! I wanna blast some fools!!” Ghoul excitedly made for the door. Jet shoved the rolled up map under his arm and followed suit.

“Be careful out there!” D. called out to the group as they all filed out of the building. 

Ghoul immediately raced over to the shotgun side of the car and jiggled the handle of the door. Locked, of course. “C’mooooon open up! We gotta Jet, Jet!” Jet snickered at the dumb little pun Ghoul made. “Hey, cool it kid, be careful with her, she’s sensitive. You owe me your ass if you break any part of her.”  
“Her? What, you name your car or some shit?” Kobra scoffed.  
“Yeah, actually. Fellas, say hello to Gloria. Named after how Glorious she is.” Jet gestured to Gloria with his arms outstretched, and then unlocked the car with the keys he pulled out of his pockets.  
Kobra seemed a bit taken off guard, he wasn’t actually expecting a response that serious, and didn’t have a good comeback, so he clammed up and crawled into the backseat.   
“Yeah, I gotta agree with uh.... fuck, your name is Ghost right? Nah fuck it, doesn’t matter. I agree with him, it is a pretty damn good ride. Where’d you get it? Shit, uh, I mean her.” Poison asked Jet.  
“My name is Ghoul!” Ghoul quickly chimed in before Jet responded.  
“Shooting contest a couple years back. Got her in good condition and I haven’t let her deteriorate one bit.” Jet slapped his hand on the roof of the car.   
“Yeah, cool whatever. We should go now.” Poison went around the other side and got in, because they had a feeling Kobra would punch their teeth out if they tried to climb over him to get to their seat. Poison got in, and then Ghoul did, and finally Jet.

“Okay, real quick, house-or uh, car rules; Don’t kick the seats, don’t touch any of my stuff, the car radio is broken, and I’m the only one that drives under any circumstances. Got it?” Jet sternly stared at everyone in the car.   
“Yeah, we get it mom, just drive already! We’re wasting daylight and precious time those rebels that need saving have. Punch it, punk!” Poison spat at Jet. Without another word, Jet turned the car into reverse, and once Gloria the glorious Firebird was out of the parking lot, he floored it. 

As soon as the sound of the car faded into the distance, D. let out a sigh and sat on one of the barstools.   
“Worried about Poison, huh?” Pony asked. They walked up to the counter and leaned over it to deposit the cleaning rag they were using into the sink, then sat on a stool besides D. “Aw hell, don’t be. I’ve been on plenty missions with Poison, remember? They can handle themselves just fine. They’ll be alright D., you don’t gotta spend every waking moment fretting over them. You do that, and you’ll be wasting your days away.”   
D. looked at Pony, and gave a satisfied smile to them as he sighed again. “I know... but this is the first time I’ve sent Poison out with new people. I just... I wanted them to make more friends besides you, because I know it’ll be hell for them to cope with if either of us get dusted. I’m the closest thing that kid’s got to family. I want them to have more than just me. I.... I hope they’ll be alright out there.... Jet and Kobra are good kids, I’ve worked with them before, and that Ghoul kid isn’t so bad himself either. Maybe by the end of this, Poison will be happier, won’t rely on me as much.” D. put his head in his hands, “I know, wishful thinking. I just really hope that kid will turn out alright.”   
Pony put a reassuring hand on D.’s shoulder. “I’m sure they will D.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit I can’t believe I actually got this chapter out in under a month! Hopefully I can get the next one out pretty soon as well.   
Little note though, I’ll be starting school soon, so that may effect how fast I upload. However I will NOT be abandoning this fic, I’m gonna try my damn hardest to see this little passion project of mine through to the end. 
> 
> Also, I know it’s getting pretty boring, seeing as everyone is just talking and bickering most of the time, but I promise y’all that there’s gonna be some action and plenty of fight scenes from this point on, I just wanted to get all the boring shit out of the way first (and in hindsight I probably should’ve just combined this chapter with the previous one. Oh well.). Plus, I’m still researching the universe and I’m desperately trying to find a canon name for Motorbaby/The Girl’s mother. So far no dice, I may have to make up a name for her instead, she’s gonna be an important character in this fic. 
> 
> Hope everyone is staying safe and wearing their masks! Don’t be dumb like Poison was in chapter 1. Wear a mask. Or else.


	7. Road Trip, Anyone?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I got this new anime plot, four scruffy dumbasses that share one brain cell among themselves get into a car-

“So what’s the plan?” Poison asked as they kicked their feet up on the seat in front of them. Ghoul turned and gave them a judgy squint, Poison had put their feet on his headrest.  
Jet glanced over, and then reached back and gently smacked Poison’s leg. “Leg. Off. Now. My car, my rules.” He ordered. Poison rolled their eyes, but begrudgingly obeyed. “What do you mean plan?” Jet then asked, “D. already gave us a plan, remember? Or did your fiasco of passing out in the desert give you cotton for brains?”   
“Hey, watch it, or I’m kicking your seat next!” Poison spat, and jokingly lifted one of their legs toward’s Jet’s seat. Kobra shoved their leg out of his face and shot Poison a glare. Poison glared back.   
“And by plan I mean, we need a leader, right? Someone to take control of the situation, get us out of shit, y’know?” Poison continued, folding their hands behind their head and staring out at the rapidly passing scenery as the TransAM sped onwards over the dunes.

“Not it. Not a leader.” Kobra grumbled almost immediately after Poison said that.   
“Ehhh... I kinda have to agree with Kobra, I don’t really see myself leading a gang.” Jet mumbled awkwardly. “Ghoul?” He glanced at Ghoul in the passenger seat for a moment, then went back to focusing on the road.   
Ghoul shrugged. “I don’t have experience leading, but I’m willing to give it a shot. Uh, unless Poison, I don’t suppose you wanna lead us?”  
“You want the crazy motherfucker telling us what to do? You itching to get your face blasted off or something?” Kobra turned his practically permanent glare onto Ghoul this time.  
“Hey!” Poison was about two seconds away from tackling Kobra and putting him into a headlock, if it hadn’t been for Jet using one of his arms to hold them back. “Kobra, that was uncalled for, even if Poison is a bit crazy, I trust them not to get us killed.”   
Ghoul rolled his eyes and smirked at Kobra. “Mhm, right, well it’s better than having Angry McGee being our leader.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“Oh? You’re gay?” 

“Wh- no I- that’s not what I meant and you know it!” Kobra sputtered at Ghoul’s response to his insult. You can’t win ‘em all Kobra.

“Yeesh dude, I’m only kidding.” Ghoul chuckled. “Anyways. Poison, are you gonna be leader? Or am I gonna be leader?” Ghoul turned his attention back to Poison.  
Poison glanced at the faces of everyone in the car, and then grinned. “Yeah, I don’t see why not. I was usually the one calling the shots anyways whenever I went on missions with Pony.”

“I am not listening to that strawberry headed bitchass.” Kobra grumbled quietly to himself. 

“Alright, all in favor of Poison being leader say Fuck.” 

“Ghoul!” Jet shot a ‘watch your language’ stare at Ghoul. “What? I’m trying to get a vote here!” Ghoul played innocent. 

“FUCK!” Poison shouted, which startled Jet and made him swerve. “Poison!” Jet shot an even more intense ‘watch your language’ stare at Poison. A quiet snicker could be heard coming from Kobra’s direction.   
“C’mon, mooooom, you gotta vote!” Ghoul punched Jet’s arm. Jet, thankfully didn’t swerve again, and begrudgingly responded. “....frick.” He mumbled.   
“Boooooooo! Pussy! Coward ass!” Poison lifted a leg and kicked Jet’s seat in protest of Jet’s family friendly response.

“Kick it again and see how far I shove my pistol up your ass.” Jet threatened, shooting a glare at Poison from the mirror. “But, fine. As immature as you are, I say fuck. You happy now? Don’t make me say it again or you get to walk the rest of the way.”

“Aye aye captain buzzkill.” Poison mock saluted Jet, and Ghoul snickered. 

“Why don’t we put on some music? As funny as it is watching you two go at each other’s throats, I’d rather we don’t get on each other’s nerves so much that we genuinely consider throwing someone to the Dracs.” Kobra stated, picking at the end of his shirt. Damn, he missed Viper, no doubt that fleabag was having more fun than he was.   
“Car radio’s broken.” Jet grunted, keeping his eyes on the road.   
“Okay.... then why don’t we have someone use their own radio?” And at this point, it’s obvious who owns the single brain cell among these desert dumbasses.  
“If you want tunes so badly, why not use your radio? Speak for yourself, but I think Poison and Jet’s battle to the death is way more fun to experience!” Ghoul cackled. Both Jet and Poison rolled their eyes. Kobra threw his boot at him. 

“Wh- OW! WHAT THE FUCK DUDE?!” Ghoul whined, rubbing his now red nose. 

“Whoops, my hand slipped. Besides, I erm... left my radio at the diner. It’s attached to my bike.” Kobra looked off to the side. Ok, maybe he didn’t have the brain cell after all.   
Jet groaned and rubbed his face with one hand. After a loud, drawn out sigh, he pointed to the glove compartment on the passenger side. “My radio is in there.”   
Ghoul opened it, and the radio fell out immediately. He managed to catch it before it could hit the floor, but his feat went unnoticed. Ghoul fiddled with the knobs for a bit, and at one point it made an awful shriek sound. Kobra yelped, Jet swerved, and Poison smacked their hands to their ears so hard that they made themself dizzy.   
“Turn it off! Off!!!!” Poison shouted over the screeching.   
“I’m trying!!!!” Ghoul yelled back in a panic, frantically messing with the knobs some more.  
“Try harder!” Kobra demanded.   
Jet reached over and smacked the radio, and the screeching subsided. From that point, the radio started playing some staticky classical music. “It does that a lot.” Jet shrugged.   
Ghoul turned the knobs a few more times, and the radio began playing some less staticky indie music. The car fell into silence, and Ghoul assumed that it meant the station he had landed on was good enough. 

The rest of the drive was uneventful and quiet, save for one instance where Kobra sneezed and startled Poison, who had dozed off a bit, into hitting their head on the window they were leaning on. After a bit of bickering, they fell silent again. 

“Jet. Jet, stop!” Ghoul grabbed Jet’s arm as they were nearing the site of the mission.   
Parked in front of the rebel base was a B.L.IND. van. The back doors were open. Jet brought the Firebird to a screeching halt. He kept the doors locked, and nervously glanced at everyone in the vehicle. 

“Well, Poison, what’s the plan?” Ghoul asked with a smirk, turning around in his seat to face Poison. Everyone else was looking at them too.

Poison pulled their gun out and slipped on their yellow mask.

“It’s rootin’ tootin’ shootin’ time, motherfuckers!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY FUCK I GOT IT FINISHED! I had this chapter as a half finished WIP for like 3 weeks, and I finally forced myself to be productive and finished it today. Oddly enough, balancing this and my schoolwork isn’t so hard! Yay me for posting this within the year!  
Also. Yes I am aware it’s going really slow, next chapter I promise you guys will get action and fight scenes. I know I said this last time, but this chapter was getting long and I didn’t want to delay it anymore, so enjoy a little more dumbassery for now. This fic is literally all improv, I don’t even have a beta reader, so please bear with me.   
Hope you peeps in school are doing ok, don’t get sick, wear your masks or Poison is gonna force you to wear a Drac mask!


	8. PSA: Kick Every Dead Body You See

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poison stop touching dead bodies challenge

Poison was the first to get out of the car. They kicked opened the door, ignoring the glare shot at them from Jet, and they stood straight, blaster at the ready. Poison slipped on their yellow mask and absentmindedly fixed their hair as they waited for everyone else.

“Sure hope everyone is a good shot. If you miss and shoot me....well, let’s just say I may also miss and call it an accident.” Kobra got out next, grumbling to himself as he adjusted the holster on his leg. He knew damn well that he was the worst shooter out of all of them here, so he was hesitant to take out his gun. He left it in the holster for now, no one else had seemed to notice he was unarmed.

“You bet your ass I am. I can shoot with a hand pinned behind my back and my eyes closed!” Ghoul boasted. He tucked the Franken-mask under his left arm and went to go stand by Poison.

Jet was the last to get out. He had donned a pair of dark aviator sunglasses and tied a dark blue bandana in his unruly hair. The keys in his hand jingled as he locked up the Firebird. After shoving the keys into his jacket pocket, Jet withdrew his blaster too, and looked to Poison for directions.

“We all ready?” Poison asked, but they didn’t bother waiting for an answer. They began slowly and cautiously approaching the opened van.  
“Be careful! Wait for us!” Jet hissed through his teeth at Poison. This kid was gonna get their ass killed the day they don’t have someone looking out for them. He took two large steps forwards, and was now about three feet behind Poison. Kobra and Ghoul began following too, both of them hanging back behind Poison and Jet respectively.

“On three, we storm the open doors. Shoot first, questions later.” Poison whispered their plan to the others.

“What if there’s Dracs in there?” Kobra asked. “Shouldn’t we all agree on a plan before you-“  
“If there were Dracs, they would’ve seen and heard us coming and attacked us by now. Dracs don’t do ambush missions, they’re too stupid for that, and according to D., there’s no S.C.A.R.E.C.R.O.W.S. here either.” Poison cut him off. Kobra shut up after that, he wasn’t arguing with someone who dressed as bright as a traffic cone.  
“One,” Poison started, stretching their wrists and rolling their neck. Jet adjusted his glasses.  
“Two,” Poison took a step forward, and the others followed. There was a tense silence that followed after that count.

“THREE!” Poison caterwauled, and all at once, the four of them raced around the end of the van, blasters held up. They stopped at the open doors, fully prepared for a blazing gunfight.

It was empty.

Well, technically it wasn’t empty, but it didn’t seem that anyone alive was there. At least, not anymore. Two Dracs were laying there on the floor of the van. The one closest to the wide open doors was undeniably dead, laying face up in full view. What was left of the mask and its face was a mushy, fleshy, rubbery, and gory combination of blown out brains, blood, and bits of the mask and the skin underneath.

Behind that dead Drac was another one. This one was laying face down, and a pool of blood was underneath its torso.  
“Grooooooooss.” Poison drew out the word with a snicker. “You fuckers dare me to poke the blasted brains?” They asked, gesturing with their gun towards the one with its face blown to shit.  
“You’re screwed in the skull, Poison.” Kobra rolled his eyes. Though, admittedly, he really wanted to poke the brains himself.  
“I’m gonna do it!” Poison laughed, putting one foot onto the raised platform of the van’s interior.  
“Poison don’t you dare.” Jet scolded them.  
“You’re not my mom. I’m doing it and no one can stop me!” Poison cackled, stepping up the rest of the way into the van. They approached the body and crouched down close to its face. With the end of their pistol, they jammed the end of it into the center of the bloody mess. It made a vomit inducing squelch sound.  
“That’s disgusting.” Kobra grunted.  
“Oh yeah?” Poison glanced up at him, and in a quick instant, they flicked their gun in Kobra’s direction. Drops of blood flecked forwards, and a small chunk of whatever one would call this gross concoction went flying...directly onto Kobra’s cheek.  
“THE HELL?!” Kobra yelped, taking a big stride back. He furiously wiped at his face with his hand until the chunk of whatever it was fell onto the ground with a quiet splat.

Poison burst into a fit of laughter and nearly fell out of the van with how hard they were laughing. After sitting there wheezing for a bit, they got up, still chuckling. “You should’ve seen your face!!” Poison cackled, hopping out of the van and wiping off the tip of their gun on their pants.

“Poison, that was a dick move.” Jet crossed his arms after putting his gun away.

“Yeah, and hilarious!!!!!” Ghoul had joined Poison in laughter.

“And I’m going to kill them.” Kobra spat, drawing his blaster and aiming it at Poison. Poison smirked. “Shoot, coward.” They taunted, taking a step towards Kobra.  
“Enough, both of you. Need I remind you that we have a mission we’re supposed to complete? Now’s not the time to mess around. Besides, we shouldn’t be drawing attention to ourselves. Have you idiots forgotten that this place has got a few Dracs in it? You’re both being stupidly risky, knock it off.” Jet huffed as he stepped between Poison and Kobra, pushing the two of them apart with one hand each.  
“Alright, alright, he’s right.” Poison smirked and held up their hands in a “I’m backing down” gesture. Kobra lowered his pistol, and then put it away after a stern look from Jet.

“Coward.” Poison whispered after turning around.

“SAY THAT AGAIN MOTHERFUCKER! I DARE YOU! I’LL BEAT YA ‘TIL YOU’RE PURPLE!!” Jet had to catch Kobra and hold him in what was practically a chokehold to keep his rage filled ass from killing Poison.  
Ghoul and Poison shared a laugh as Jet was making an attempt to calm Kobra down.  
After a bit more bickering between them, Jet once again reminded everyone that they still had a mission to complete, and after one or two more insults thrown around, the group focused back on the task at hand.

“Let’s stick together.” It was more of an order than it was a suggestion coming from Poison. They nodded their head towards the front door of the building, which appeared to have been broken in. By the looks of it, it was an old, formerly abandoned police station. Whatever the city name it went by was no longer visible anymore, most of the letters on the large plaque next to the front doors were worn down to nothing.  
“I’d get your masks on if I were you.” Poison added as they adjusted their own. They lead the group to the front door, guns at the ready. Poison leaned forwards into the doorway and scanned the entry hallway for any signs of life. There was another dead Drac on the ground, in the same position as the one laying facedown in the truck. Though, there was a suspicious lack of blood coming out of this one.

Much to everyone’s horror, especially Jet’s, Poison sauntered over to it and gave the presumed corpse a hard kick to the shoulder.  
“Poison!!! What are you doing?!” Jet hissed and took a few steps towards them. “Cool your tits, this thing’s dead.” Poison announced, kicking the dead Drac again for good measure.

“Should we even be here if all the Dracs are dead?” Ghoul squinted at the van, and then the dead Drac. “No, D. would’ve gotten some sort of confirmation that the situation was dealt with. Remember, he said he hadn’t heard from this outpost in awhile. I bet the remaining scumbags have the rest of the rebels locked up in a room somewhere.” Poison gestured their gun as they spoke, and then pointed down the hall. “It splits off through those doors. We should split up. Holler your lungs out if you see or hear anything. Ghoul, you’re with me, Jet, you take Kobra down the right hall.” Poison kicked the Drac again.  
“Dude...stop. He’s dead.” Ghoul cringed and walked past the corpse to keep up with the already wandering off Poison. “Oh, and look for anything interesting that could explain why these shitfaces are here in the first place.” Poison added, then motioned for Ghoul to follow them as they slipped between the open doorway and to the left.

Ghoul gave a shrug and a look of “eh whatever” to Jet and Kobra, then took off running to catch up with Poison.  
“C’mon, the sooner we get this done, the sooner we can leave.” Kobra grunted to Jet as he took the other path down the hall. Jet stretched out his arms and leisurely walked behind Kobra, quietly whistling to himself. “Shut it, or I’ll make you eat plasma.” Kobra grumpily threatened him whilst waving his blaster around.  
“You’re no fun.” Jet pouted, but wasn’t in the mood to get shot, so silent he fell. Just before Jet passed through the doorway into the hall, he looked back at the dead Drac. His heart did a funky ass spasm as he could’ve sworn he saw the corpse ever so slightly move its hand. Jet quickly calmed himself, and blamed his dumbass for only having coffee for breakfast. He was probably having hunger hallucinations. Though, he continued to stare at the Drac to see if it’d move again until Kobra complained about it from a few feet down the hall. Once Jet turned away and caught up with Kobra, the grumpy blonde crossed his arms and made a “well?” Expression. “The fuck were you standing there for?” Kobra asked.  
“Nothing, nothing, I just...I think I saw the Drac move. Keyword is think.” Jet nervously explained. Kobra rolled his eyes. “I don’t scare easily. You’ll have to try harder than that to make me freak.”  
“No, seriously, I really think I saw it move!” Jet insisted. “Yeah, well then you’ve got rocks for brains. If it was alive, it would’ve ganked Poison when they kicked the son of a bitch.” Kobra muttered, lazily swaying his arms back and forth as he walked down the hall.  
“I...guess you’re right.” Jet sighed, forcing himself to let it go. The two’s footsteps echoed down their side of the hallway. They passed a collapsed staircase first. Kobra stopped and stared at it for a moment or two. “You think anyone’s up there? Should we check?” Jet asked, leaning over some of the rubble to look up at the floor above. “Nah,” Kobra decided, turning away from it. “It looks near impossible to get up there, and I’m not good at parkour. If you wanna climb up there, be my guest, but I’m not helping you back down.”  
“Guess we can check it as a last resort then.” Jet started walking, and Kobra followed behind. They came up into what could best be described as the room you usually see in movies and cop shows; desks in a large, open room, a break room off to the side, and windows on the back wall looking into other parts of the building. The desks were mostly bare and empty, save for a few books that didn’t hold much interest, along with food wrappers and the occasional empty blaster charge cartridges scattered about. Jet went to try the light switch on the wall closest to him. After flicking it a few times, he came to the conclusion that the lights didn’t work anymore.  
“Nothing’s here, we should keep going.” Kobra told Jet as he headed in the direction they had been walking. There was a door right at the edge of the room, so on a whim, Kobra decided to open it. He shut it an instant later, a look of pure disgust on his face. “I found the bathroom.” He groaned while looking absolutely green. “Remind me to piss outside if I gotta go. The smell alone in there nearly killed me.”  
“Gross.” Jet chuckled as he passed Kobra.

★★★

“Hey, uh….not to sound like a pussy or anything, but what exactly should we do if, y’know, we actually do run into Dracs?” Ghoul asked as he shifted his glances between the doors in the hallway. Poison had jiggled the knobs of every single one, each time Ghoul held his breath, expecting something to jump out at them every damn time. Most of the doors were locked or didn’t budge no matter how hard Poison rammed their scrawny shoulders into them. The ones that did open were just small, unimportant office looking rooms, or interview rooms.  
Hell, the fact that Poison could practically challenge danger like that without even flinching was a feat in Ghoul’s eyes. Were they really that fearless? Or just undeniably stupid? Probably both if Ghoul had to take a guess.

“Duh, we kick their asses!” Poison casually answered after another door jiggle. Poison withdrew their gun and twirled it between their fingers. “To be Frank with you, I didn’t just pick you ‘cuz I would’ve argued with Kobra. Nah, I picked you ‘cuz you just got that er...best I can describe it is that you’ve got the look of an ace shooter. If I’m goin’ down, I know you’ve got my back!” Poison grinned at Ghoul and clapped a hand on his back.  
“Wait, I thought you were Poison. I mean, don’t get me wrong, Frank sounds like a swell name.” Ghoul couldn’t help but make that terrible and not at all meta joke. Poison snickered with him and continued traversing the hallway. Eventually they came to the end of the hall, two doors on either side. Ghoul saw the fiendish grin spread across Poison’s face as the rambunctious redhead spun around, their hands outstretched into a universally recognized position. “Rock paper scissors! Winner gets to pick which door they wanna open.”  
Oh god oh fuck now Ghoul has to open a door. Ghoul stepped up to Poison and held out his hands too. “What are the chances one of them opens up to a room full of Dracs?” He laughed nervously.  
Poison squinted, looking to be in thought. “I dunno. I’m ass at math, but I’m guessing pretty high if the other two haven’t found anything yet!” Before Ghoul could react, Poison was already starting the hand game. Ghoul scrambled to keep up with Poison, and when Poison exclaimed “shoot!” at the end, they threw out a paper sign. Poison did scissors and comically snipped at Ghoul’s flattened hand while grinning like they knew where someone hides their secret stash of junk food. “I win motherfucker! Alright, let’s see…..eenie meanie mynie...that one.” Poison pointed to the door on the right side and shoved Ghoul in the direction of the left door.

Ghoul took a cautious step towards the door, and after a deep breath or two, he gripped the knob and flung it open.

“It’s a fucking janitor’s closet. Lame, there’s not even a broom in here.” Poison grumbled disappointedly at their door. They turned around and stepped up behind Ghoul. “Whatcha got there?” They asked, leaning over his shoulder.

It appeared to be a basement of some sort, by the looks of the dark staircase going down into a pitch black room. ‘_Wonderful_.’ Ghoul thought, feeling his stomach churn. ‘_A murder basement and I’m stuck with a lunatic_.’

Poison raised their gun and without warning, fired a shot directly down into the darkness. Ghoul yelped and jumped sideways, almost convinced Poison had hauled off and shot him, but realized a moment later that Poison was using the energy shot from the blaster as a light. A very dangerous light that could melt your fingers off, but a light regardless. The shot bounced around between the stairwell walls for a moment before fizzling out and going dark. “Warn me next time you do that dude!” Ghoul complained, lightly punching Poison’s arm. Poison gripped their gun tighter and took a few steps down the stairs. They stopped and looked back up at Ghoul. “Well? You coming or what?”

“You’re crazy. This is crazy. What if there’s something bad down here?” Ghoul tried reasoning with them. “Nahhh there won’t be. This is probably just the file room of this old police station, the worst thing down here is probably a spider. Here, I’ll cut you a deal, I won’t shoot anymore down here.”

  
“That….that just means we’re gonna be in the dark.”

  
“Yeah? And?”

  
“And you owe me lunch for making me do this.” Ghoul groaned, reluctantly following Poison.  
“Bold of you to assume I have money.” Poison cackled as they reached the bottom step. Both of them were feeling along the wall, their hands occasionally bumping into each other as they did so. Poison veered off into the darkness, recklessly taking big steps and miraculously not faceplanting into anything like a file cabinet or shelf. Ghoul stuck closer to the stairs, using the light from the open door at the top as a bit of a guide for himself. Ghoul then paused, he was hearing something.  
“Poison. Poison!!” Ghoul whisper yelled to the darkness. He had lost track of them already.

“What?”

Poison’s voice sounded much farther than Ghoul anticipated, which just made his unease worse. They were still shuffling around in the room. “Stop walking for a second, I think I hear footsteps upstairs.”

“It’s probably Kobra and Jet. HEY GUYS, WE’RE DOWN HERE!!!” Poison shouted, but they did stop like Ghoul asked. Ghoul flinched and tried not to focus on his suddenly rapid heartbeat. There was no response from upstairs, which was most definitely a bad sign, Poison had certainly shouted loud enough for Jet and Kobra to hear. If it wasn’t those two, then….

The footsteps Ghoul heard had gotten slightly faster, and before he could react, the upstairs door suddenly slammed, making Ghoul jump so badly that he almost lost balance and fell over.  
“Jet, if Kobra convinced you to be an asshole and prank us like this, knock it the hell off, it ain’t funny.” Poison called out. They had started walking again. A second set of footsteps started, this one coming from the opposite direction of Poison; from the stairwell. Ghoul took one, two, three giant steps away from the stairs. “Guys?” He nervously called out.

As the stairwell footsteps got closer, Ghoul heard something else. The sound of heavy breathing. The kind of heavy breathing one hears coming from someone wearing a mask, a tight mask. Ghoul knew Poison had heard it too, because he heard Poison’s footsteps getting rapidly closer towards him. Poison slammed into Ghoul, nearly knocking him off balance again. “We need to go. NOW.” Poison hissed into his ear. Ghoul was already way ahead of them, but they couldn’t exactly leave until the Drac on the stairs somehow got out of their path. That was their only way out, and the Drac knew that as much as they did. The Drac’s footsteps stopped at the bottom of the stairs, and both Ghoul and Poison knew it was looking at them. Ghoul had the horrific theory that Dracs could perfectly see in the dark.

To make matters so, _so_ much worse, the two rebels heard the unmistakable sound of a door opening behind them.

“Heh, this the reinforcements? A couple of kids? Man this place has really gone to shit.” Another Drac from the doorway behind them, speaking in a hoarse and deep voice.

“GUNS!” Poison shouted, firing four blasts in front of them. It took Ghoul a moment to react similarly, but he did end up drawing his blaster, whirling around and hopefully facing the doorway Drac. Before he could get a shot off, a large hand roughly grabbed Ghoul’s wrist, twisting it in a painful way that made him cry out and drop his blaster. Ghoul could hear a similarly rage filled scream from Poison. Ghoul couldn’t see them, but he was certain that motherfucker would continue to kick, scream, fight, and hell, Ghoul was sure that Poison wasn’t opposed to biting their foes either. But before he could call out to Poison, he felt a blunt force slam into the back of his head, and his world went dark.

“Let’s go get the other two.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi  
I can explain
> 
> I don’t remember if I set up an estimated deadline for this chapter but I really feel the need to apologize for it being late. School’s kicking my ass, algebra sucks. 
> 
> If anyone gets that obvious meta joke I slipped in, good for you. 
> 
> Shit is finally getting good....for us. These idiots are in for a world of pain. Sorry lads, you know I had to do it to ‘em.
> 
> Press F to pay respects to the mushy face Drac. 
> 
> See y’all in the hopefully not-a-year-late next chapter.


	9. Rise And Shine, Motherfucker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprisingly, no one died. How’s the Idiot Squad gonna get out of this pickle?

“Hold on a second. You heard that too, right?”  
Jet paused and held out his arm to stop Kobra from walking.

“Heard what?” Kobra whispered, giving Jet a quizzical look. 

“I could’ve sworn I heard Poison calling for us.” Jet jerked his thumb behind him, gesturing in the direction to where the other half of their team went.  
Kobra turned around to look, intending to listen for what Jet was talking about. His eyes went wide, and he grabbed Jet in a haste and yanked him into an empty room, the momentum causing Jet to stumble and swear under his breath. He was about to ask Kobra what gives before the short blonde held up a finger to his lips and a terrified expression on his face.

“There’s a Drac down the hall!!” He hissed, his tight grip on Jet’s arm barely loosening. 

“A _what_ ?!” 

“A Drac, dammit! D’ya got rocks for brains man?? There’s a Drac all the way down the hall. I think it’s heading for the other two. Shit shit shit fuck what do we do??” Kobra was starting to panic, and Jet had to pry his anxious hands off his arm with a pained grunt. 

“Don’t panic, for one.” Jet took out his blaster. “We gotta stop it, but we shouldn’t just go in without a plan. Dracs never work alone, there’s probably more where he’s going.”

“Why don’t we just get out of here?” 

Jet looked as if he just got slapped. Did Kobra really just say that?

“Are you serious? You want to leave? Like a coward? You knew what you were signing up for, now ain’t the time to be a wuss. C’mon, you know I’ve got your back. Dracs are stupid, we’ve got the advantage of having a plan.” He leaned out through the doorway and watched the Drac continue down the hallway. 

“We sneak up on it. Blasters ready, masks on. We take out that one first, and any others that are nearby. We’re gonna meet back up with the others at some point anyways, it’s best to get closer to them sooner than later.” 

Kobra wasn’t staring at Jet, he was staring off elsewhere, a distant and panicked look in his eyes. Jet saw that he was wringing his hands together, his knuckles white. “I’m not a coward.” He rasped, suddenly taking out his blaster. “But I am a terrible shot. Fuck it. If I die, I die, and I’ll make sure that I’m haunting your ass for the rest of your days.” His demeanor changed nearly in an instant, seems Jet’s pep talk helped knock some sense into him. Well, some nihilism at least. Good enough. 

“Sounds good enough for me. I’ll take the front.” Jet clapped Kobra on the back and leaned out of the doorway again. 

The Drac was gone. 

“Okay bad news,” Jet announced, leaning back into the room, “The Drac’s gone. That means it’s probably gotten to the other two by now.” 

“ _ Shiiiiiiiit _ .” Kobra groaned. “Now what?” 

“We still go after it numbskull. If it’s found Poison and Ghoul by now, they’re gonna need backup. We should r-“

Jet was caught off by a battle cry from their rambunctious leader. Even from all the way across the building, Jet and Kobra could recognize the anger and fear in Poison’s voice. “Let’s go!” Jet grunted, and before Kobra could process what was  happening, Jet had already dashed out of the door. After a brief moment of panic, Kobra caught up with his frizzy haired companion, now hot on his heels as the two stampeded down the hallway. Their footsteps echoed through the space as they ran, Kobra nearly tripping over rubble from the collapsed staircase they passed, but neither boys slowed. 

“Hang in there guys, we’re coming!” Jet shouted, his blaster held out in front of himself as he ran. He looked ready to shoot anything that moved, foe or not. Kobra worried that Jet’s shouting was just alerting the Dracs that Ghoul and Poison didn’t come alone. In what felt like minutes, but was only really a few seconds, the two rebels reached the hallway their friends had trekked down, along with the lone Drac they had seen. “I fucking knew the entrance Drac wasn’t dead.” Jet grumbled to himself as they stood at the open door at the end of the hall. Much like Ghoul, Kobra was less than willing to go down a dark staircase. 

“You first.” He nudged Jet. “You’re the better gunman.” Was his excuse for being a coward. 

“Stick behind me.” Jet ordered Kobra as he took the first step. Kobra’s hair stood on end, he didn’t need to look to see that he was sporting goosebumps all across his arms. Not that he could see anyways, it was dark as shit down there. And eerily quiet as well. That definitely wasn’t a good sign, Kobra recalled how loud Poison was moments ago, and now he heard from neither them nor Ghoul. “Poison? Ghoul?” Jet cautiously called out. 

The two rebels reached the bottom of the stairs, and it was a miracle how neither of them tripped over the other in the darkness. It was utterly silent, and Kobra didn’t realize he had been holding his breath until he felt lightheaded and had to let out a gasp. Jet had taken several steps ahead, searching around the walls with his hands. 

“Ghoul? Poison? Sound off if you can hear me.” Jet called out in a loud whisper. 

“Maybe they went somewhere else? It’s too dark to see, I really don’t think they’d stick ar-“ Kobra was suddenly punched rather roughly in the stomach and let out a choked grunt. He couldn’t see his assailant, and he was fairly certain Jet wouldn’t deck him without a motive. Kobra wheezed and fell to the ground with a loud whump, all while desperately trying to call out to Jet. They definitely weren’t alone, and he wasn’t the slightest bit convinced that the guy that punched him was Ghoul or Poison. “Jet! Get out of here!” Kobra croaked as his attacker landed a hard kick to his face.  
Kobra tried defending himself, at the very least putting his hands in front of his face, but it wasn’t doing him any favors. Through the darkness, he saw the sliver of light from the stairwell glint off his attacker’s shoe as it swung at his head.

Things went dark at that point.

For a moment, Jet wasn’t sure what to make of what he had heard. He had gone deeper into the room, ahead of Kobra. While incredibly faint, he ended up picking up on a set of footsteps he could easily recognize weren’t his own, nor were they Kobra’s. He was about to note out loud to his companion that he believed the hallway Drac had wandered down here when he heard a pained grunt from Kobra, and then suddenly the sound of someone falling over. Jet was instantly alert and tried to make his way back to where he remembered he left Kobra, but it was so dark that he was disoriented almost instantly. After nearly faceplanting straight into a wall, Jet attempted to call out to Kobra, only to have a rough, gloved hand slap over his mouth. Another arm soon followed, snaking its way around Jet’s neck. He was being forced into a chokehold. Joke’s on his attacker though, Jet still had his trusty- _ oh _ . Fate must’ve not been on his side today, as his luck would have it, this was one of the occasions where his blaster decided to stop working. There was a static sounding pop that came from the barrel of the weapon, and a tiny bright fizzle of energy slowly and powerlessly dripped from the tip, but that was all that happened.

Needless to say, Jet was fucked.

Weaponless and losing consciousness fast, Jet did the only thing he could think of in that moment— he lifted his right leg and brought it down as hard as he could onto the shin of his assailant. The guy howled in pain, quite literally. It didn’t take Jet long to put two and two together and figure out it was a Drac. Unfortunately, it didn’t let go of him, despite now probably having a cracked shin. The grip on his throat did loosen though, and Jet took that moment to gasp in as much air as he could. Before long, it got tight again, and as Jet’s vision began to swim, through the struggling he could hear something being dragged across the floor a few feet away. Jet guessed it was another Drac dragging Kobra off to somewhere unknown. Before panic could really set in for him, his vision went dark, or at least he assumed it did, as the darkness he was seeing in the room was replaced by a different darkness. After attempting to wheeze in one last breath, he was out. His blaster slipped from his now limp fingers and clattered to the floor. 

★★★

“....Rise and shine, motherfucker.” 

A gruff voice that sounded like someone put a dog through a blender was harshly whispering against their ear. 

“I said rise and shine, bitch. Unless you want me to blow your fucking brains out in front of your friends.” 

And then they felt the familiar tip of a blaster press against the side of their head. And Jesus fuck was their head throbbing.....ow. 

“Fuck off.” Poison seethed to the faceless voice. They hadn’t opened their eyes yet, their whole head felt too sore to do much of anything. There was the familiar bitter taste of blood in their mouth. Poison spat it out, and a second later, a fist was colliding with their stomach. Poison grunted and coughed, finally opening their eyes. All they saw was the crisp white sleeve of a Draculoid uniform. The fist in their stomach drew away, and the sleeve was replaced with the fugly mask of a Drac.

“You got your nasty ass phlegm on my shoe you little shit!” He growled in Poison’s face. Thank god the mask covered this guy’s mouth, because Poison was fairly certain his breath smelled less than pleasant. 

Poison squinted at the Drac and genuinely debated spitting in his face. Before they could make up their mind, however, the Drac stood back up and turned. As the Drac got to his feet, Poison spotted not only their blaster, but their friends’ blasters all attached to his belt like some demented kind of trophy. A tiny flicker of a reckless, stupid, and chaotic plan was forming in their mind...

Snapping out of their thoughts for a moment, Poison finally got a good look at the room; it seemed to be one of those police interrogation rooms, meaning they hadn’t been transferred to a new location, thankfully. From what they could tell, they were in the side behind the mirror. Poison glared at the glass, wondering if any other Dracs were on the other side watching. 

Poison eventually pulled their hateful gaze away from the window and looked around the room. They were on the floor in the far left corner of the room. Poison’s hands and ankles were tightly bound together behind their back, the ropes chafing and rubbing in the most painful way against their skin. “Can’t believe you fuckers are actually smart enough to disarm someone. Now if only you could utilize that brainpower a little more, you shit-minded pigs.” Poison let the sass slip, their gaze fixated on their bright yellow weapon, not really even putting much thought into what could happen to them after saying that. The Drac that punched them spun around  and closed the distance between them with a single stride. He slammed his arm against the wall mere inches from Poison’s head. His face got real close to Poison, who was once again grateful for the fact they couldn’t smell this guy’s obviously rancid breath through the hideous mask. 

“What was that, punk?” He spat, using his other hand to roughly grab Poison by the jaw. Poison noticed their nose was bleeding from the fact that they started to feel blood trickling down from their nose to their chin, and eventually onto the Drac’s glove. The fake leather dug into their skin with the grip of the Drac’s fingers. 

“Go fuck yourself. Oh, and you’re getting my blood on your gloves, you prissy neat freak.” Despite being in the prime position of a beatdown, Poison wasn’t dialing down their back talk. And yet, miraculously, the Drac seemed to tame his temper, as, instead of pummeling Poison into red mist right then and there, he just slammed Poison against the wall and stood back up.

“Pussy.” Poison chuckled to themself. The Drac twitched, but he didn’t get near Poison again. What a disappointment, to Poison, at least.

Poison glanced around again. The harsh fluorescent lighting of the room made their head hurt worse, and after blinking back watery eyes, they were able to take in the rest of their surroundings. The room was a nearly colorless and dull shade of gray, thanks mostly to the cracked concrete walls and floors. Cobwebs lined the ceiling corners, and though it hurt to look at it for long, Poison could see a ton of dead bugs inside the light fixture. Gross.

The sound of someone else groaning made Poison turn their head, and through their pain blurred vision, Poison could make out the shapes of their friends. The one furthest to them, Kobra, was the one that had stirred. The Drac suddenly seemed far more interested in Kobra, and was already heading over to harass him too. Poison tried more insults to make the Drac stop, but he wasn’t listening anymore. 

Kobra got the same “rise and shine, motherfucker” treatment that Poison did. Though, one key difference is that Kobra stayed silent, unlike Poison, who immediately started off with a “fuck off” and a bloody stain on the asshole’s footwear. Kobra did, however, shoot the most hate filled glare at the Drac. If looks could kill, Poison was 120% certain every Drac within a 50 mile radius would be dead from Kobra lookin’ at them alone. Kobra spotted Poison immediately after that, and, while the Drac was occupying himself by poking his blaster at the still unconscious Jet and Ghoul, Kobra scooted closer to the others. Like Poison, his hands were bound as well, and he was blasterless. 

Eventually, Ghoul and Jet came to as well, both equally disoriented and pissed off. The Drac laughed in their faces as he strode over to the center of the room. “Finally, we can get this party started! God, you sleep forever! What are they feeding you rats out here? Must be ungodly unhealthy for you to be conked out by mere kid’s brawls!” The Drac’s hearty cackling made all four rebels in the room cringe. 

“Now...” He sneered, dragging his fingertip over the barrel of his blaster. “You kids wanna tell me what you’re doing out here, hm? This is surely no place for children! It’s awfully dangerous! And now, I’m a reasonable guy...you tell me exactly why you’re here, where you came from, where your base of operations is, and if you’re nice enough about it....well then I may just decide to kill ya gently.” 

Despite not being able to see under the mask, all four of them knew this Drac had the nastiest, most sadistic grin plastered across his face. Across the room, Poison could see that Ghoul was doing....something. They squinted, hoping they weren’t drawing attention to themselves. Jesus Christ on Chanukah, Ghoul had his hands free. Somehow, he had either broken or loosened the ropes enough to get his arms free, and Ghoul was now slowly working on his ankle bindings. He kept his eyes on the Drac and one hand behind his back just in case the Drac looked in his direction and he had to put his hands back to make it look like he was still helplessly trapped. 

Well, Poison was gonna make sure Ghoul had as much time as possible to get himself free, and it seems like Kobra had the same idea. Jet moved closer to Ghoul, quickly picking up on the silent plan between everyone. 

“Why do you think we’d tell a scoundrel like you anything?” Kobra spat, keeping his glare fixated on the Drac. 

The Drac turned slightly, now facing Kobra. “Excellent question, my dear boy! I’d reward you, but I think your death will be rewarding enough.” He got up close to Kobra the same way he did with Poison and held his blaster under Kobra’s chin, lightly tilting it up. Kobra’s gaze never faltered, hell, it seemed to grow more intense. 

While the Drac was distracted by Kobra and his murderous gaze, Jet silently slid over to Poison, having done whatever he did with Ghoul a moment ago. Like Ghoul, his bindings were also off as of now. He glanced at the Drac, and then stealthily slipped his red haired leader a three inch long glass shard. Perfect! 

Jet moved back to his original position as Poison began working on their wrist bonds. 

“See, if you don’t tell me everything, then I’ll make sure to torture each and every one of you little shits!” The Drac continued, pressing the tip of his blaster deeper into Kobra’s skin. Kobra grunted in discomfort, yet his gaze remained steady and malicious as ever. Poison was quite glad they were on the same side, they didn’t think anyone could stand being on the receiving end of a glare like that. They kept their eyes locked on the Drac, studying his every movement as they were now working on their ankle bindings. Poison shot a quick wink to both Ghoul and Jet, who were staring at them with looks that were a mix of hopeful and extremely nervous. 

The Drac suddenly spun around, turning his gaze away from Kobra.

“And she’s gonna be the first one I tank!” He snarled, pointing his gun directly at Poison’s face. Poison didn’t look amused in the slightest, they didn’t even flinch. “Actually, I’m not a girl.” They corrected. “Fine!” The Drac barked, clearly annoyed, “I’ll blow his brains out first!” 

“I’m not a guy either. Sheesh, is that ugly as shit mask also fucking up your vision? Do you have eyes, asstown?” Poison rolled their eyes as they insulted the Drac. 

“For fuck’s sake then, what are you, besides a pain in the ass?!” The Drac became distracted by his rage, so his gun lowered out of reach of killing distance in front of Poinson. 

“Oh, y’know,” Poison began, wiggling their now free hands in front of the Drac before snatching their raygun from the Drac’s belt, along with knocking his own gun out of his hands with a kick. “I’m just a zone rebel like the rest of us, and also the person that’s gonna kick your ass so hard you’re gonna vomit rainbows, bitch.” Poison punctuated the last word with a fake smile before they shot the Drac in the leg as he was scrambling to pick up his gun. The Drac howled in pain and doubled over, and that’s when the rest of the rebels sprang to their feet. 

“Ghoul!” Poison called out, tossing the Drac’s blaster to him. Ghoul caught it and readjusted his hands, then aimed directly at the glass window separating the two rooms. 

“Surprise, motherfuckers!” He hollered before shooting the glass. It shattered into just about a million pieces, and the four of them ducked down. There were two other Dracs in that adjacent room, and they decided now would be a good time to starta gunfight. 

The Drac in their room was starting to get back to his feet again, but before Poison could order Jet or Kobra to do something about it, Kobra had already tackled the goon and began pummeling him. Over the sound of Kobra’s fists colliding with the unfortunate Drac’s face, and the fizzling ‘pop!’ noises from everyone’s blasters, Poison heard Ghoul half-shout something to them. After Poison yelled “WHAT?” Like a deaf old coot, Ghoul repeated himself. 

“I have an idea! It’s stupid, but it’ll work. Cover me!” He hollered. He didn’t really give Jet or Poison an opportunity to completely register what he said. Ghoul sprang to his feet as Jet and Poison attempted to draw fire away from him. Out of the corner of their eye, Poison could see Ghoul balancing on top of the table, reaching for the light. 

Kobra reappeared, having knocked out the Drac, and passed out the remaining blasters he took back from the Drac. Ghoul exchanged his for the Drac blaster, and ducked back a little as he aimed it directly at the light fixture. There was a loud shatter, the sharp hiss of a blaster going off, and the clinking sound of little glass bits raining down to the floor. 

“I need help getting this shit down!” Ghoul barked, brushing some of the nasty dead bugs off himself. Kobra went and aided Ghoul in taking down one of the long, fluorescent bulbs. 

“The fuck kind of good is a lightbulb gonna do us?!” Kobra asked with a judgmental tone.

“It’s not the lightbulb, it’s the chemicals inside. Plus this baby right here!” Ghoul held up the spare Drac blaster. 

“The charges in these kinds of blasters are really fucking explosive. Combined with one of the main elements of fluorescent bulbs, krypton, its powerful enough to create a sort of flash bang, fire starting bomb.” 

“You’re going to build a fucking bomb?! Are you nuts?!” Jet exclaimed, having listened in on the whole thing. 

Poison stood a bit so they could continue shooting. That is, until a blaster shot hit them square in the left shoulder. They yelped and ducked down, though it really looked like they collapsed. 

“If it’ll take care of those Dracs, then fuckin blow this place to hell for all I care!” They ordered through gritted teeth. 

“Perfect.” Ghoul grinned and smashed open the fluorescent bulb. “Take that apart!” He ordered Kobra, pointing to the blaster. Albeit a little confused, Kobra began dismantling the weapon until he found what Ghoul needed, the charge canister. Sill half full from the looks of it. He passed it to Ghoul and sat back and watched Ghoul do...whatever it was he was doing. 

“Poison. Bandana.” Ghoul didn’t look up from the stuff in front of him, he just outstretched his hand to receive the cloth. Groaning in pain and clutching their shoulder, Poison passed it to him. 

“I can’t hold them off for much longer! Hurry up!” Jet panicked, continuously ducking back under the wall as he fired shots across the room. 

“Great, I’m done!” Ghoul announced less than a minute later. He crawled across the floor to avoid the shots and handed the bomb to Jet, who seemed less than excited to be holding a shoddy makeshift explosive. “Why me?!” He asked, glancing between the Drac room and the bomb. 

“You just gotta throw it. I need to shoot it to make the charge canister explode, and I know out of the four of us, I’m the best shooter other than Poison. And we know why they can’t shoot it.” Ghoul gestured to Poison’s shoulder. Poison flipped Ghoul off and stuck their tongue out, but it seems like they agreed with what Ghoul said. 

“Look man, if you’re gonna be a pussy and back down, I’ll throw it.” Kobra snapped, reaching over to snatch the bomb from Jet. 

“No, I’ll do it.” He insisted, ducking far under the wall. “You better not miss.” He gave a serious glare to Ghoul. “On three,” he exhaled sharply and turned his body so he could be ready to pop up and launch it.

“Wait, you’re gonna throw it on three or the moment after three?” Ghoul whispered. Both Kobra and Ghoul rolled their eyes. 

“On three, numbskull! We don’t have time to bicker unless we wanna be Swiss cheese!” He hissed, getting into a crouching position. 

“Alright, alright.” Ghoul grumbled, readying himself like Jet was.

“One.....” 

Kobra glanced to Poison and made a motion for the two of them to duck and cover.

“Two.....”

Ghoul gripped his blaster tightly. The Dracs were getting closer, they all could hear it. 

“THREE!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay on this chapter! I had to deal with stress inducing finals, and I was also quite busy for the holidays. Hopefully now that my school work has died down, I can post a bit more frequently now.
> 
> I had so much fun writing this chapter, y’all have no idea! There’s a good chunk of it that I had pre-written before I had even written the first chapter!  
Don’t ask how Ghoul knows how to make a bomb, I don’t think you wanna know the answer.  
I hope you guys had good holidays, whatever you celebrate. Stay safe, happy New Years! Here’s to giving 2020 the boot and having a kickass 2021. May killjoys never die!  
I’ll see y’all in the next chapter :)


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